


I know when you go down all your darkest roads

by chaoticdean



Series: Darkest Roads verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Case, Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Consensual Sex, Darkest Roads Verse, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Eventual Smut, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Therapy, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 53,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24489709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticdean/pseuds/chaoticdean
Summary: Dean and Castiel go undercover as a couple going through therapy, in order to catch a monster that specifically targets couples dealing with issues, feeding on their distress, anger, and pain.They end up going through a lot more than a case, unfolding feelings left untold for so long, discovering parts of each other they never intended to uncover.But will the feelings raging inside them be enough to bring their walls down?This work is titled after lyrics from the song "Graveyard" by Halsey [x]———Friendly reminder that English isnotmy native language, so there's likely going to be mistakes! Please bear with my french ass :)[Started as part of the SPN Stay at Home Challenge, still going because I have no self-control.]
Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Series: Darkest Roads verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007565
Comments: 319
Kudos: 643
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Undercover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's fairly certain that going undercover as a couple with the man you've been pinning for for over a decade is the worst idea they've ever had. Yet here he is, at the Greystone Retreat in Nashville, Tennessee, and Cas is wearing his clothes and sharing his bed.
> 
> Fuck.
> 
> ———
> 
> Friendly reminder that English is **not** my native language, so there's likely going to be mistakes! Please bear with my french ass :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as part of the SPN Stay at Home Challenge — Monday #9: Undercover
> 
> Thanks a lot to the lovely [bend-me-shape-me](http://bend-me-shape-me.tumblr.com), [heliantus21](http://heliantus21.tumblr.com)and [Pray4Jensen](http://pray4Jensen.tumblr.com) for hosting this #SPNStayAtHomeChallenge over on Tumblr!
> 
> And thanks to my gang of proofreaders (aka Camille, Sarah and Marjo) for indulging my endless anxiety crisis over this.
> 
> Friendly reminder that English is **not** my native language, so there's likely going to be mistakes! Please bear with my french ass :)

*******

Going undercover as a couple would have been a brilliant idea to catch the monster they are after if only he wasn’t going undercover as a couple with _Cas_.

Not to get your ideas twisted, the situation felt more like a dream than a nightmare for Dean, which was the _whole damn problem_. It was far too easy to lose himself into the false pretense of them being an actual couple, to the point where he actually craved the connection. 

“Dean? Are you listening?” Cas asks, and Dean realizes he’s been zoning out for two minutes.

“Yeah, sorry Cas. You were saying?”

“Sam thinks we’re hunting an Algea. They were the personified spirits of pain and suffering, grief, sorrow and distress, bringers of weeping and tears. The Algea were related to Oizys…”

They’ve been here for 12 hours, trying to catch a monster that specifically targets couples dealing with issues, feeding on their distress, anger, and pain. So far, 2 people have died here, at the Greystone Retreat in Nashville Tennessee, and the best way they found to try and bring it down was to go undercover as a couple having issues with their marriage.

Which would have been a brilliant idea, if Dean fucking Winchester wasn’t such a sucker for Castiel. 

But choices were made, and his feelings for his best friend didn’t weigh heavily over saving dozens of people from a murderous maniac supernatural being. So obviously, when Sam pitched the idea, he and Cas were both immediately on board.

“You’re not listening to me.”

Cas’s voice suddenly breaks through his mind and he looks up to him from where he’s sitting on the bed. His tone isn’t questioning, it’s acknowledging.

“Silver kills it, a bullet through the heart. Right?” Dean finally answers, locking with Castiel’s cobalt blue eyes.

The angel is wearing a very different outfit from what he’s used to — “if we’re gonna sell the part about you and me being married, you’re gonna have to wear anything other than this dirty trench-coat and freaking suit that I’ve seen you in for a decade, Cas” Dean had said — and _boy oh boy_ was it a mistake to request for him to wear _this_.

He’s wearing one of Dean’s pair of black jeans, the hems carefully folded to fit him perfectly, a pair of brown boots and a fitted navy shirt three buttons down that makes his eyes pop.

And Dean’s going to fucking _lose it_ at some point, because how the hell is he allowed to look this good while wearing Dean’s clothes? It feels like everything has been designed to fit every distinctive part of him in the most perfect way, and Dean is absolutely _fucked_.

Castiel finally sits on the chair facing the hunter, looking almost as distraught as Dean seems to be.

“What’s wrong with you? You seem very… agitated, yet not entirely there with me.” He asks, tilting his head in that particular gesture that was so Cas.

“I’m fine, Cas. I’m just tired. I’m gonna try and get some sleep if you don’t mind, you can keep on with the research if you want to.”

“Actually, I was thinking…” he stops, hesitating, his eyes flickering to the king-sized bed Dean is sitting on, “We should probably sleep together to maintain cover, if either the Algea during the night or the staff tomorrow morning comes in?”

Dean simultaneously feels like his heart has dropped ten stories and is gonna burst on fire. It didn’t occur to him that they might have to literally take their cover to bed.

He’s suddenly not entirely sure that this is either a dream or a nightmare.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice brings him back again, and he’s left staring into the angel’s blues.

“Y-yeah you’re right” he stutters, trying to keep his face neutral while his stomach is making loops inside, “we never know. Are you actually gonna sleep?”

A decade ago, Castiel didn’t need to sleep and would have gladly kept on doing research — or flown out to god knows where angels went after midnight— until the brothers would’ve been up and ready to go. Today was a different story, and he actually needed some sleep every now and then to recharge his angelic batteries.

Judging by the yawn that just escaped his mouth, Dean figures tonight is one of those nights.

“Yeah, I think I might. Did you pack anything for me to sleep in? I think my sweatpants stayed in the bunker” Cas says with a soft smile.

Dean sighs, checking through his duffel bag to bring out a pair of navy sweatpants that seems to be there specifically for Cas — God bless Sam, but also _fuck him a little_ , cause the color of these sweatpants completely matches Castiel navy shirt and _God_ the things this color does to Castiel’s entire appearance should be fucking illegal.

Castiel thanks him and calls dibs on the shower, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts for 10 minutes, which he uses to check his emails, text Jack to make sure the kid is still alive, and well watching Netflix in the bunker, and text Sam.

When Cas comes out, wearing nothing but the damn sweatpants, his hair still wet from the shower sticking in 12 different directions and his chest entirely exposed, Dean feels like his eyes might drop to his feet and his head might explode.

Thankfully, Castiel doesn’t seem to realize the effects he has on Dean.

“Can I borrow one of your shirts? I’m afraid I completely forgot to bring anything to sleep in. I can sleep like this if you don’t have a spare one” he says, rubbing his face in a way that makes him look inherently human.

“Yeah, sure. Here, take this one” Dean answers, tossing him an old well-worn Ramones shirt that he’s sure has been his for more than two decades. 

Watching him put on his shirt, Dean is suddenly convinced the whole damn universe wants him dead. The thought of Castiel going back to his god-awful suit that hides his broad shoulders and, quite frankly, each of Cas’s most flattering body parts after this is almost insufferable right now. 

“I thought you were going to the shower after me? Dean, are you alright?” Cas asks, visibly concerned by his partner’s apathy

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Jesus fucking Christ, for the last time, I’m fine!” Dean answers, trying to keep himself in check cause now is _not_ the time to fucking lose it, Winchester.

But even the cold shower he inflicts himself with doesn’t seem to help with anything. When he gets back into their room, Castiel is already in bed, cuddled up into one of the cushions. If he didn’t know better, Dean would think he was already asleep.

Silently slipping under the covers next to him, Dean lies on his side to watch him. The angel smiles softly. 

“D’you keep wondering if I’m okay because you’re the one who’s actually not okay, Cas?” Dean asks, his voice low, watching the Angel for any kind of reaction.

“I think couple’s therapy is getting to your head, Dean.” Castiel chuckles, trying to sound offended. 

“Bite me, Dr. Seuss.”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking” Cas answers with a dramatic roll of his eyes that makes Dean smile even wider “Should we sleep now?”

“Yeah, yeah sleeping beauty. I’ll turn the lights off.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

“‘Night, Cas.”

*******

Dean wakes up screaming from a nightmare, the room still dark and Castiel hands on his shoulders. Nightmares from his time in hell don’t occur as much as they used to, but when they do it’s fucking pathetic how they turn Dean into an absolute mess. 

“Dean.”

Castiel’s voice acts like a calming balm over the scars of Dean’s mind. He has turned the bedside table’s light on, and Dean can see how concerned he is when he looks into his eyes. 

“You’re okay. I’m right here. Breathe.”

Dean sits up on the bed, suddenly realizing he’s covered in sweat and _fuck_ , why does his head hurt like hell? One of Castiel’s hand finds its way to Dean's shoulder, anchoring him to reality while he presses his face into his palms.

“You’re okay. I’m right here. Breathe,” Castiel repeats, and as much as Dean hates feeling vulnerable, he’s okay with feeling vulnerable with Cas right now. 

Castiel’s hand moves to his back, softly massaging his skin into soothing circles. He feels his body moving beside him, and suddenly Castiel’s face is pressed into his shoulder, his whole body against him. 

“You’re okay. I’m right here. Breathe,” Cas says again, like a mantra. 

Dean closes his eyes again, listening to the calm in Castiel’s voice, enjoying the warmth of his body.

After a while, his breath goes back to normal and he opens his eyes again, turning his face so that he can see Cas’s. The angel looks at him, although not moving from the spot on his shoulder where he seems completely content. And not removing his hand from his back either.

Not that Dean would actually complain.

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Cas asks although he seems to already know the answer.

“Not really.”

Castiel gives him a small, reassuring smile, and starts removing himself from Dean’s personal space. The spot he occupied on Dean's shoulder feels cold and the traces of his hand on his spine left tingles on every square of his skin. Dean reaches out, pulling Castiel’s wrist before the angel gets back to his sleep position.

“Cas, I don’t… Can you…”

There’s a beat in the room, and Castiel’s face softens. Dean has never asked Cas — or anyone in four decades — to stay with him after a nightmare.

But he also never shared a bed with Cas in over a decade of knowing him, and the fact that he just spends half the day posing as his husband might have given him wings. And he could swear he sees a glimmer inside those ocean blues.

“Of course, Dean.”

The hunter falls back onto the mattress, and suddenly Castiel is there against him. It takes them a minute to adjust to each other, Castiel finding his spot in the crook of Dean’s neck, tucking his head right below his chin. Dean instantly wraps his arms around him, breathing in his scent — a hint of honey, sandalwood, and a dash of copper, all distinctively _Cas_ —, his heart still thundering beneath Cas’s cheek.

“This is how it should be every other night” is the last thought that comes to Dean’s mind right before he falls back into the dark limbos of sleep again.

*******

The unpleasant sound of an equally unpleasant alarm clock suddenly rips Dean away from a very comfortable sleep. Coming back to his senses, he quickly assesses the other body pressed against his, the other arm tucked around his waist, the face breathing hot against the skin of his neck, and the events from last night come back in waves.

His nightmares, Castiel’s soothing hand and voice, Dean basically asking him to cuddle back to sleep —

_Shit._

Lost in the sensations, Dean doesn’t realize right away how something seems to be going on below his waist.

And Castiel is starting to move against him.

Shit. Shit. **Shit**.

Dean rapidly strips aways from a very sleepy angel, grabbing his jeans and tee-shirt to cover his prominent boner, and makes his way to the bathroom. The whole thing must have lasted 15 seconds tops, and suddenly he's left alone with his dignity and half-hard cock. 

Jesus Christ, let’s hope this cold shower does the trick, cause there’s no way he’s taking care of this 5 feet away from the reason why he’s like this in the first place.

Thankfully it does, and it takes Dean about 10mn to get back to the room fully showered and dressed, although still dizzy. 

Castiel is still in bed and judging by his face, grumpily so. 

And to Dean’s demise, he looks freaking fabulous. His bed hair is glorious, and the visible scruff on his face makes Dean want to crawl back into bed with his angel.

 _Control yourself, Winchester_ , he thinks, briefly wondering when he started thinking of Cas as “his angel”.

Probably somewhere between last night’s cuddle and 10 fucking years ago is the only answer that comes to mind.

Not that anything happened between them inside that bed, other than a reassuring presence in each other’s personal space.

But damn, Dean would do anything for this to happen over and over again.

Maybe he should.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean says while sitting back on the edge of the bed, putting on his boots.

Castiel turns on his side to look at the hunter’s back, studying Dean’s movements.

“Dean, I love you, but it’s entirely too early to be awake,” Castiel sighs and Dean’s heart explodes against his ribcage.

“It’s 8 am, what the fuck are you even talking about? Aren’t your angelic batteries charged up enough yet?”

“Not even remotely close. I feel like I’ve been rolled over by a garbage truck, while simultaneously being ripped apart by a shredder,” Cas says, his voice indeed sounding very tired.

“Oh, fancy,” Dean reacts, glancing at Castiel’s face and meeting his eyes, “You’re gonna be okay, though?” he asks with a tiny smile.

“Yeah, yeah. Go get breakfast I’ll join you in 10.”

“Not sure it poses as a steady couple if we show up at separate times.”

“But I thought the whole point was to appear as a struggling couple?”

“Yeah, okay. See you in 10.”

Dean gives his partner a smile as he grabs his jacket on the back of the chair and leaves the room, letting Castiel struggle with his morning grump. He makes his way to the facility’s breakfast room, which is surprisingly crowded. The buffet is filled with stuff that makes the hunter’s stomach growl, and by the time Castiel joins him — wearing that damn navy shirt that makes Dean’s heart grow 10 times again — he’s already on his second set of pancakes. 

“Anyone talked to you yet?” he asks, dropping on the chair facing Dean.

“Nah. Here, I got you coffee. Figured it wouldn’t hurt your garbage-truck-slash-shredder body struggle,” Dean says with a smile, pushing a white paper cup towards the angel.

Castiel smiles at Dean softly, which Dean realizes he’s been doing a lot recently and accepts the cup with a nod. 

“Did you sleep okay? You know, after the.. nightmare,” he asks, carefully trying not to step into Dean’s feelings. 

“Yeah. Thank you, Cas. For… well, you know,” Dean says.

He’s about to continue when the face of an employee of the facility appears in his field of view, and he immediately put on the mask of Dean Cartellone, who has been married to Castiel Cartellone for 2 years. 

“Mister and Mister Cartellone! How is it going this morning?” the man asks with so much enthusiast in his voice it actually makes Dean’s brain tweak. 

“Slowly,” Cas grumbles into his coffee, clearly wanting nothing more than being left alone.

Dean gives him a look, and quick smile at the man, challenging his voice with as much enthusiast as the man — Steve, as the name tag said.

“Good, thanks, Steve. What’s the program this morning?” 

20 minutes after, Dean and Cas find themselves sitting on a couch in front of a therapist, and now Dean’s fucking convinced this was the worst idea they’ve ever had in a decade. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find my chaotic self on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com), amongst other things.


	2. Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> — #SPNStayAtHome Challenge, Week 11: Free Choice —
> 
> A therapy session and a talk about being 'more tactile' later, Dean decides that maybe this wasn't such a bad idea.
> 
> _This chapter's title comes from the song "Therapy" by All Time Low [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zR9MuyUFa3Y)]_
> 
> ———
> 
> Friendly reminder that English is **not** my native language, so there's likely going to be mistakes! Please bear with my french ass :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot to the lovely [bend-me-shape-me](http://bend-me-shape-me.tumblr.com), [heliantus21](http://heliantus21.tumblr.com) and [Pray4Jensen](http://pray4Jensen.tumblr.com) for hosting this #SPNStayAtHomeChallenge over on Tumblr!
> 
> And thanks to my usual gang (aka Camille, Sarah and Marjo) for proof-reading this mess!
> 
> Warning — I know this story started out as a one-shot, but it's quickly turning into a multi-chapter fanfic, and as of now I still feel like the story isn't over. So from now on, expect updates every Monday until I'm done with this whole story!

It’s an understatement to say that Dean feels uncomfortable, and the room itself doesn’t give him much chance to ease it up. 

The couch he and Castiel are sitting on is bright blue, and the whole office is covered in a patchwork of colors so vivid Dean has trouble staying concentrated enough to hear what’s the psychiatrist — Mrs. Pritchard — is asking.

And truth be told, if he thought just seeing Castiel in that navy blue shirt was hard, try sitting two inches from the man with his hand resting on your thigh without losing your whole fucking mind. 

Yeah, things are going so damn well.

“So, Mister Cartellone…” she says, looking intensely at Cas

“Please, call me Castiel,” he interrupts with a smile, and Dean wonders exactly when the angel managed to feel so chill interacting with other human beings that aren’t the Winchesters or their close social circle.

“Okay — Castiel,” she changes, a small smile making its way at the corner of her mouth, “What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think about couple therapy? What’s the first subject you wanna breach?”

“Resentment,” Castiel blurts out almost instantly, and Dean’s world goes spinning. 

Resentment? What the fuck does Cas resent him for?

Dean knows that they’re doing this for the purpose of the case, but he also knows that Castiel doesn’t like to lie, so whatever comes out of his mouth during this is gonna be at least tainted by some truth. 

His hand suddenly makes its way to Castiel’s and eagerly grabs it, lacing their fingers together. It’s like his whole brain just short-circuited and his body behaves on its own terms. 

Castiel doesn’t move, looking as casual as he’s been the entire time since they’ve stepped foot inside Greystone Retreat, and somehow it both frightens and amazes Dean.

“Would you mind explaining what you mean a bit further, Castiel?” Mrs. Pritchard asks, her eyes darting at their intertwined fingers.

“We tend to argue and let things resolve without ever talking it out, and I guess some things are better talked out than left untold. I think a lot of issues in our relationship are gravitating around resentment, both from mine and his point of view,” Castiel explains.

He didn’t even stutter once. Dean literally feels mortified.

“Dean? Is it something you agree on? Do you tend to escape confrontations with your husband?” The therapist asks, eager to keep the conversation going.

“Well… I guess so, yes,” Dean finally answers after a beat, trying to gather his thoughts — they’re on a case, dammit, now is not the time to fuck it up, “I tend to escape whenever it’s too much for me to deal with. I just… Never realized you resented me for it, babe,” he adds, the pet name coming naturally over his tongue — and it does sound lovely.

Castiel finally turns his head to look at him, his marvelous ocean blues locking into Dean’s honey greens. There’s a smile on his face, but Dean can almost see the shape of sadness inside his eyes.

And it’s kind of heartbreaking.

“Castiel, when you think about resentment, is there a particular event that comes to mind?” the psychologist asks, and suddenly Dean remembers they’re not alone in this room and concentrate back on her, sitting in this goddamn purple chair, a notepad on her knees, and a pen in her hand. 

“Well…” Castiel hesitates, and Dean can feel the tension gathering between the angel’s shoulders, so he gently squeezes his hand, pushing him to continue, “I don’t think back on any particular moments, actually. It’s just bits and pieces, whenever we argue about some stupid thing and he gets silent and broods in a corner for a day instead of talking to me. Or when he’s visibly pissed off about something I said or did, but he refuses to tell me what I did wrong.” 

Holy shit. 

“What I would like you guys to do before you get back in front of me tomorrow, is talk this out together. Try and hear what the other has to say, and grow from it as both a couple and an individual. If it’s too much to do this verbally, maybe try and write some stuff you want the other to understand. Do you think you could do that?” Mrs. Pritchard finally says, breaking the silence. 

“Y-yeah I think we can do that,” Dean says as Castiel nods, eager to get this over with and quite frankly hoping the case is resolved and they’re long gone comes tomorrow’s appointment.

“Okay. One thing I want to add because it’s not usual for couples coming to their first appointment of couple therapy with me — this is the very first time I’ve seen you two initiating touch towards each other,” she says, and once again Dean feels like the sky is going to crumble over them, “usually whenever a couple walks into my office and steps on my couch, they tend to hold some sort of ‘happy together’ act, sitting very close together and all over each other. This isn’t the case with you two, and it makes me wonder if things are okay on that front for you?”

Well, not that Dean would mind initiating touch toward Castiel every other regular Tuesday, _thank you very much_ , Mrs. Pritchard.

“No, no, things are good,” he quickly mutters, but fucking hell he wished, “we’re just used to staying discreet in public, that’s all.”

“Things are great, actually. As Dean said, it’s just a habit,” Castiel adds, and Dean can almost feel the blush that colors his cheeks pink.

_My fake husband makes me come very hard in my dreams, things are great indeed._

“Okay, well I felt I still had to mention it, as your personal therapist. This has been a great start gentleman, I hope we can work toward helping you two have a better relationship at the end of this stay! See you tomorrow, same place same hour?” the therapist finally says, putting her notepad down on her desk, a gentle smile on her lips, “If any of you need to see me before that time, feel free to knock on my door between 6 and 8 pm.”

“Will do, thank you, Dr. Pritchard,” Castiel says, getting up but keeping Dean’s hand firmly locked in his. 

“See you tomorrow, Doctor,” Dean adds with a half-assed smile, following his fake husband through the door, his fingers still intertwined firmly with the angels.

Boy, they’re gonna have things to unpack after this.

After all, Dr. Pritchard did say to talk this out, didn’t she?

*******

“Maybe we need to be more tactile,” Castiel says, dropping on the bed — their bed, Dean’s stupid mind corrects — with a sigh, sitting on the edge.

He looks visibly exhausted, despite having slept through the entire night before, and part of Dean kind of worries about this, but the other parts are fixated on what he just heard.

More _tactile_?

“W-what do you mean,” he stutters, afraid of what’s gonna come next

“I don’t know, Dean. I’ve never actually been in a relationship before, so doing this undercover married couple isn’t a piece of cake for me. I’m not accustomed to any of this.”

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” Dean says, once again giving up to controlling the part of his brain that seems to be doing whatever the fuck it wants since they’ve set foot in that goddamn couple retreat.

“If I was doing great, the therapist wouldn’t have figured out that we actually don’t _sleep_ together, Dean,” he says bluntly, “and if she can tell this by observing us for 20mn, I bet that Algea we’re supposed to catch isn’t going to show.”

Oh God, this is a nightmare, isn’t it? 

“Cas…” Dean says, finally dropping on the bed next to his angel, “we’re gonna catch it. I promise.”

Castiel suddenly scoops up next to Dean, lowering his head to press against Dean’s shoulder. The hunter doesn’t say anything and wraps his right arm around the angel’s shoulder. His mouth quickly ghosts over the hair on Cas’s forehead, and he’s delighted to feel Castiel shiver lightly.

“Why are you so tired? You slept through the entire night yesterday,” Dean asks, voluntarily changing the subject to something they can both handle without scratching their head.

“You know why, Dean. I’m not the angel I used to be. To be fair, I think there’s no much angel left in me,” Castiel says, his voice sounding both beat up and light.

It breaks Dean's heart, knowing that Castiel is losing parts of himself because of them. 

“I’m fine.” 

“No, you’re not. You’re losing yourself and I hate it.”

“I’m not losing myself. I know exactly who I am, and who I am knows exactly why I did this. And it was worth it all, Dean. Who cares if I have to go to sleep every night from now on?”

 _I’ll take it if it allows me to sleep inside your arms for the rest of my life_ , Dean thinks. 

_Get a fucking grip, Winchester, you’re on a case and something is murdering people._

“Okay. Okay, I understand,” the hunter finally says after a while, breaking the comfortable silence between them, “Now, can we talk about what you resent me for?”

He can almost feel Castiel’s smile against his shoulder without having to watch him. 

That bastard.

“I don’t resent you. Do you think I’d be there pretending to be your husband, holding your hand all day, if I resented you?” Castiel answers, closing his eyes and sinking deeper in the crook of Dean’s shoulder, “It’s just… There’s this part of you that’s extremely annoying, that would rather stay silent and be miserable for days over something I do or say, or something Sam says or does, instead of actually telling us. And I think we would all be better off if you’d just actually talk it out instead of being miserable, you know.”

“It’s just the way I am, Cas.”

“Yeah, well, anyone can change. Look at me, it’s 5 pm and I’m exhausted. When I met you I literally smote people for a living.”

“Yeah, you did,” Dean chuckles, thinking back to the moment Castiel appeared in that barn. 

It feels like so long ago. 

“Should we go back to the common room? Isn’t there some kind of activity that we should be doing?” Castiel asks

“Yeah, probably. Do you want to go?”

“I don’t, but we’re on a case and we have a murderous supernatural being to catch, so I don’t really think what I want matters very much,” Castiel adds, removing himself from Dean’s space and getting on his feet, “I do think we need to be more tactile, though.”

“Okay, what do you _**mean**_ ‘more tactile’?” Dean asks, getting up and locking eyes with the angel.

There’s a beat in the room and Dean suddenly realizes what Castiel means when the Angel enters his personal space, his blue eyes switching back and forth between Dean’s gaze and his bottom lip.

Dean feels like the air of this entire room has left the building never to return. 

But he closes the space between them, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist. 

And suddenly their lips meet, and it’s like Dean’s world is exploding all over again against the assault of Castiel’s tongue on his upper lip.

It’s sweet and it’s slow, it’s everything and nothing Dean would’ve imagined. All awareness of their surroundings vanishes, leaving only Castiel, the taste of his lips on his tongue, the way he presses against him demanding more, his hands grabbing at Dean's hair on the nape of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

It’s raw and it’s heated, and it’s slow and it’s mind-blowing, and it’s too little but it’s also so fucking much altogether.

It’s everything and more than Dean would’ve ever wished for. 

Castiel’s finger thread into Dean’s dirty blond hair and the hunter can’t help but honest to God _growl_ against his mouth. 

This is too much. He could honestly get struck by lightning right now and it wouldn’t even matter. 

_It’s just an act, Winchester. He’s just kissing you because you’re supposed to portray that gay married couple act, not because he’s madly in love with you_ , the little voice in his head says.

But something inside Dean shifts. He cannot believe Castiel is just doing this for the purpose of a case. They’re all alone in a room they share, there’s no spectators and Cas obviously doesn’t need kissing training, judging by the way his tongue brushes against Dean’s with expertise.

“See, _**that’s**_ what I meant,” Cas finally says in a low voice, letting go of Dean’s bottom lip with a smile, his mouth still brushing gently against Dean’s. 

The shiver that goes through the hunter’s entire body doesn’t go unnoticed and Castiel's smile grows bigger. 

_Where the hell did he learn to kiss like that_ is the only decent thought that goes through Dean’s mind right now.

The indecent ones all involve way less clothing and way more moaning.

“Cas, I’m almost entirely sure that if we ever kiss like that in public, we’ll probably get arrested for public indecency,” Dean says as Castiel takes a step back, observing him with an intense gaze.

Dean briefly wonders if he’s even aware of the effect he holds on him, but the subtle mischievous smile that Cas wears on the corner of his mouth as he tilts his head tells him he does.

That motherfucker. 

“How should we kiss then?” he asks innocently, glancing once more at Dean’s bruised lips.

Oh, he wants to play? Let’s play, Angel of the _goddamn_ Lord.

“C’mere,” he gestures for Cas to come back in his space, “I’ll show you how”

It literally takes the angel half a second to get back into Dean’s arms, the hunters gently cupping his face, his other hands sliding along Castiel’s spine as he kisses his lips in multiple kisses gently. Cas’s hands settle on Dean’s lower back, pressing against the soft fabric of his flannel shirt.

“You’re very good at this,” Castiel whispers against Dean’s lips between two kisses

“That’s because you make it easy,” Dean pants, finally letting go of the angel’s lips with a dizzy look on his face.

Castiel’s eyes are filled with something Dean has never seen, his pupils blown wide, and somehow it fills Dean with pride knowing it’s the result of his lips on his angel’s mouth that turned him into this. 

“But we can also do something like this,”

A kiss on his cheek.

“Or this,”

A kiss on his temple.

“And even this.”

Dean pulls the angel’s shirt away from his collarbone, leaving the tan-skinned exposed, and gently suck a kiss right there where Castiel’s shoulder meets his neck.

The sharp gasp that Castiel releases at the sensation goes directly through Dean’s dick, and when he finally let go of the Angel, leaving a red mark on his skin that’s visible even with his shirt back to normal, his deep blue eyes are shining so hard Dean has trouble breathing.

“See, now that therapist won’t have any questions about us having sex or not,” Dean says with a mischievous smile, admiring his handy work — and prides himself knowing everyone will notice, everyone will know who left this here. 

God forbid, if they don’t bang each other before the end of this case, call it a damn miracle.

Not that Dean would mind.

_It’s a fucking case, Winchester. Cas doesn’t want to be with you, you absolute fucking mess of a man. Why would he?_

“Should we go now?” he asks with an innocent smile, as Castiel tries to collect himself, visibly having a hard time.

Dean offers him his hand, and after a moment the angel takes it, lacing his fingers with the hunter’s. 

“Let’s go, husband,” Castiel finally says as they leave their room.

Dean could quite honestly get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can come yell at me on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com), I don't bite (yet).


	3. I keep diggin' myself down deeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get ANGSTY (and I'm not even remotely sorry about it), but keep in mind... There's a 'angst with a happy ending' tag, so things will get better :)
> 
> (You're still allowed to yell at me in the comment section tho, I won't mind)
> 
> _This chapter's title comes from "Graveyard" by Halsey [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NwmidlDwuKE)]_
> 
> ———
> 
> Friendly reminder that English is **not** my native language, so there's likely going to be mistakes! Please bear with my french ass :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my usual gang of proof-readers: Camille, Sarah, and Marjo. ♡
> 
> Don't forget to subscribe if you wanna get the next updates on this! I still don't know when this ends, so new chapters will be dropping every Monday(ish) until I'm done :)

“So how long have you two been married?”

They’ve been sitting at the same table for an hour already, and it’s at least the fifth time this question has come up so by now they’re used to the story they’re telling to the point Castiel finishes Dean’s sentences and the other way around.

“What’s it been, babe? Two years?” Dean asks the angel sitting very close to him, his hand grabbing at Cas’s fingers laying on the table, a smile on his face.

“Yeah, we’ll be into year 3 in a couple of weeks actually,” Castiel says, smiling back at the hunter.

Facing them was an older couple, Stan and Sally, who have been married 30 years and are actually there at the retreat for the 4th times in three decades, only because they enjoy getting therapy together. They argue a lot but in a loving, tender way that shows how much they still love each other after all this time.

Dean briefly wonders what it’d be like to have that before the little voice in his head slammed the thought away with a distinctive “you’ll never have that, Winchester, you’re too fucked up to have anyone, let alone Castiel. He deserves better than you.”

The worst thing about this little voice inside of him is, most of the time he agrees with it. This his how he thinks of himself, and how he thinks of Castiel. And most of the time, that little voice is a mix of his father’s and his, and it hurts just a little more to realize this.

Suddenly, all he can think of is the flask of whiskey he always has in the pocket of his jacket, and the distinctive burning feeling sliding down his throat, coupled with the delicious sensation of numbness that comes within the first couple of drinks.

But Dean doesn’t have that jacket — and that flask — with him right now because he’s undercover, with Cas.

_Don’t fuck this up too, Winchester._

Collecting himself from the ashes of his own self-loathing, Dean returns to the conversation sporting a wide smile. He knows Castiel can see he’s struggling by the way he slightly tilts his head. Moving his hand away from the table to Dean’s thigh to offer support, he gets back into conversation mode easily, asking Stan and Sally questions about their previous stays.

Once again, Dean is astonished to see how easy this all seems to be for Cas. He’s always been the oddball at this kind of thing, following the brothers’ lead every time he had to head outside of his comfort zone. But there he is now, handling the casual questioning of two people at once while doing small talks and supporting Dean’s mental breakdown by offering his touch-starved partner some affection.

Who are you, and what have you done with Castiel, the love of my whole damn life, Angel of the goddamn Lord?

Dean knows he’s letting him down right now, letting him take the lead while he sinks in despair. Trying really hard to save face, he reaches for Castiel’s hand and squeezes it, stopping the angel mid-sentence.

He quickly turns his head to watch him, catching sight of Dean’s struggle.

“I’m sorry but I’m… I’m really not feeling good right now, I think it’s best if I go back to our room and call it a night,” Dean tells to the lovely elderly couple, Castiel’s inquisitive gaze still on him.

“You’re okay, sweetheart? Do you need me to come with?” Cas asks while Dean stands up, patting his shoulder lightly.

“No, don’t worry babe. Enjoy the night, I’ll see you when you get back,” Dean answers, lowering his head and dropping a quick kiss on Cas’s temple.

The angel suddenly reaches out, grabbing Dean’s chin with his finger, and kisses the hunter’s lip softly before he’s gone. Stan and Sally release a couple of “aww”, and Dean can’t help but melt into the kiss a little.

But he kind of hates himself for it too.

He knows it’s all fake, and he knows Castiel is doing this for the purpose of the case. He knows it’s wrong to enjoy this, to demand more, and he suddenly feels bad for marking Cas’s skin with his lips, for kissing Cas in the silence of their room just because he wanted to.

But he loves it. _He loves it_. He **loves it.**

And that’s the whole damn problem.

There’s no relevance in doing this for the case. He doesn’t need to. He does because he _wants_ _to_. And right now, gulping down whiskey down his throat feels equally painful as the realization that he’s been living his fantasy without taking Castiel’s feeling into account.

He’s suddenly almost sure the angel loathes him for doing this, and he takes another sip of whiskey just to feel the burn.

It’s cathartic, almost soothing. The way the alcohol burns along the way until it reaches his stomach, filling the pit of despair and sorrow in his lower abdomen.

The hunter closes his eyes, his mind drifting off to Cas, how good it felt feeling his hand on him supporting him, how right it felt to feel his lips brushing against his, how fulfilling it was to press against his mouth —

_You don’t deserve shit, Winchester. Especially not **him**._

Sitting on the edge of the bed, his flask in one hand, he almost doesn’t hear the door open.

And Castiel is suddenly standing before him, watching with worry first, and discontent after noticing the flask.

“What is wrong with you?” he asks, his voice coming off unexpectedly harsh.

It hurts Dean everywhere, including places Dean didn’t know could hurt.

“Dean... What the hell is wrong with you?” Cas asks one more time, coming closer to Dean, his voice sounding even harsher than before. “They were our best shot at having more answers and you just… you bailed out on me.”

“I can’t do this right now Cas,” the hunter finally answers, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, making sure he doesn’t meet his eyes, drinking from the flask once more.

That’s when Cas loses it.

“Did you… Left me behind so that you could get drunk?”

“I can’t get drunk on 8oz of whiskey, babe,” he answers with a depreciating smile, finally meeting Cas’s gaze.

“Don’t “babe” me, Dean. I’m not your babe. I’m your partner, we’re on a case, and you’re ditching me in the middle of an investigation so you can get back to your pity party and drink your night away! What the fuck is WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Oh, this _hurts_.

This hurts _so bad._

Dean could almost laugh at the use of the air quotes that are still so Cas if he wasn’t too busy trying to collect the pieces of his heart lying before him.

Of course, he knew this was a bad idea from the get-go.

No one sane enough goes undercover as a couple with the very person they’ve been dreaming of being in a relationship with for a solid decade.

_How stupid did you have to be to think it meant anything? It’s just a case, Winchester. You’re not living a fantasy, and Castiel doesn’t want you. He never has, he never will. Now get up and go fuck someone else’s life up, instead of wreaking havoc inside of Cas’s. Poor guy doesn’t need that._

So he does. He put his jacket on, keeping the silver flask he’s been carrying around for years inside his hand, and reaches for the door without ever meeting the angel’s gaze.

Until there’s a firm hand on his chest, and an inquisitive finger pushing at him — the same finger that sports a _very distinctive_ silver wedding band, Dean can’t help but notice — and Castiel stands between the hunter and the door.

“Dean where are you going?” Cas asks, his eyes glimmering with so many different feelings that Dean’s mind could easily start spinning again.

“I need some air. Please let me go,” he almost begs, his voice sounding so damn needy — and he hates himself even more for it.

“Not until you’ve talked to me. What’s the hell is going on?”

“I can’t talk right now Cas.”

“I can’t let you go.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re struggling with something and I can clearly see how much it hurts you, and I want to help because I — you’re my best friend, Dean.”

_He doesn’t love you like that. He never will. He literally just asked you not to call him “babe”. He just called you his best friend. Get away from him before you hurt him again, Winchester._

“Let me go before I hurt you, Castiel.”

This time he pushes all his anger through his voice, and he picks up the glimmer of sadness inside the angel’s blues.

It hurts.

But it doesn’t hurt as much as knowing he’ll eventually wreck his life like he always does. Like he already did multiple times.

Castiel deserves better than a fucked up, alcoholic, beat up excuse of a man, let alone a hunter.

Dean just needs to get away from him for a little while, to try and collect what’s left of him, to try and find some distance.

Castiel finally strays away from him, watching as Dean opens the door and leave, making a beeline for the exit at the end of the doorway.

The cold air takes him by surprise, and it feels like a hammer hit him the face.

“Mr. Cartellone? What are you doing out here?”

Oh, the _goddamn_ therapist.

As if Dean’s night could get even worse.

But after all, he is on a case, as Cas remembered him. Why not work it?

He puts on his fakest smile and joins here as she’s sitting on a bench, smoking a cigarette.

“I just needed some air. It happens.”

“You know I’m a psychologist, right? I can **literally** tell from the way you’re doing that thing with your hand, and the way you’re standing, that you just had a fight. I’m guessing with your husband. I’m guessing over some misunderstanding. And I’m guessing you made a beeline for the outside world instead of facing him and talking to him, just like he said in therapy today. How close am I?” She says with a weak smile, watching as Dean mask’s crumble.

“Yeah, you’re pretty good at that aren’t you?” he says with a laugh, rubbing his face before taking out the flask and getting a sip of whiskey.

He offers it out to her and takes another sip after she refuses his offer, watching as he drinks the last drops.

“So, do you want to talk about it?”

“God, why does everyone always want to talk?”

“That’s my job, you know. And that’s kind of why you came here, right?”

“My husband’s idea, actually. I’m not the most talkative person on Earth, especially when it’s about feelings” he answers after a while, watching as a few cars pass on the road.

“Oh, shocker,” she mocks him a little, but Dean can see she really wants to do good, “you know, you two look like a handful.”

“How so?”

“Well, it’s pretty clear from the get-go that both of you are high heels over each other.”

Dean chuckles lightly, thinking back at the way Castiel’s lips felt over his mouth, and how it felt so good holding his hand inside of his for everyone to see.

“But you both act like you don’t want to acknowledge it. I see the way you look at your husband when he’s not paying attention, and he’s doing the same. And right now, you’re literally sweating pain. It’s written all over your face.”

Castiel doesn’t want me. Castiel doesn’t love me. I’m just his friend. I wish we could be more, but he deserves better, and he doesn’t want this with me. You’re wrong, I don’t care how many PhDs you’ve got, you’re _wrong_.

“Yeah, well. What else is new, uh?” he answers after a while, still stunned by how well Mrs. Pritchard was able to see all that from a 20 minutes appointment and 24 hours on the facility.

His eyes wander off to his hands, lying on his lap, and he can’t help but brush lightly against the silver wedding band he’s been wearing — the exact same as Castiel, obviously. When he and Cas figured out the monster was going after married couples and settled on going undercover as a couple together, Sam decided to go ring shopping behind their back while they were prepping and came back with these (“If you two are playing the married card, you need wedding rings, I don’t care if you think it’s stupid, Dean, you can’t pass for a married couple without these”). He even had them engraved, “just in case someone gets too nosy,” he said (but Dean suspected he just went soft like the big ol’ sap he’s always been), so there’s a distinct “ **Dean and Castiel — 20.07.2018** ” written on the inside band.

“So, yeah. Do you want to talk about it?” the therapist asks again, watching him carefully.

Dean rubs his face again, weighing the pros and cons. As Cas rightfully said, they’re on a case and Mrs. Pritchard is still a suspect. Plus, he could use the advice from a neutral party.

“I break everything I touch. I always have. And I probably always will. I couldn’t save my mom. I couldn’t save my Dad. I couldn’t take care of my little brother enough for him to have a normal life. I’ll eventually end up wrecking Castiel’s life. Look at us, almost three years married and we’re already going through therapy. And I just, I can’t… I can’t do this to Cas. He means too much to me,” he finally blurts out, trying to make out what he means without lying too much, his eyes fixated on his wedding ring.

“Can I ask… How old were you when your mom died, Dean?” She says, her voice soft.

“4. Sammy was a few months old. I carried him out while the house burned.”

“And your dad?”

“27.”

“Dean… I know nothing about your family’s life, and quite frankly, I don’t have to, to know that A) you can’t save everyone and B) let alone while carrying your baby brother at age 4, or 27,” she answers, watching carefully as Dean’s head drops on his hand

“Castiel deserves better than what I have to offer.”

“He loves you, you know.”

“I have doubts.”

“Well, I don’t. Maybe you should just pay attention to how he behaves around you. That way, you’ll see what I see.

Dean thinks back at how good he looked in that navy shirt all day. How good it felt to fall back asleep inside his arms last night, finally feeling safe enough to let go. How good it was to kiss him for the first time.

_You don’t deserve him, Winchester. And he doesn’t want you._

The sudden sound of a police siren coming in at full speed breaks them from their conversation, Dean jumping on his feet as soon as the car parked over, noticing how an ambulance appears in the distance.

Mrs. Pritchard stays by his side and grabs his arm as they’re making their way toward the entrance, noticing that people are gathering at one of the bedroom doors.

Glancing at the room from where they’re standing, Dean quickly assess the blood staining the carpet and sheets, and here on the bed, fully naked in the midst of what looks like a kinky sex game —

Stan and Sally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can be found babbling about Destiel and SPN on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com), come hang!


	4. Personal Pillow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean comes back after storming out of the room earlier to break the news about Stan and Sally to Cas.
> 
> ———
> 
> Friendly reminder that English is **not** my native language, so there's likely going to be mistakes! Please bear with my french ass :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting earlier than I'm supposed to, mainly because I'm going back to work on Monday and I'm not sure I'm actually gonna be able to update during the day. From here on, chapters will be dropping around Sundays/Mondays depending on my work schedule :)
> 
> Next chapter is going to be a bit different since I'm gonna dive into the "Cas side of it all", and I'm really excited for you guys to dive into it!
> 
> Also, if you liked the little texts I experimented with during this chapter, just know that they'll be back :)
> 
> Okay, MOVING ON. Have a great read, y'all!

Dean’s mind is overwhelmed by approximately a hundred a twenty-five different things — the most prominent being if I had just stayed back there with Cas instead of running to drink my fears away, Stan and Sally would still be here, _how surprising that someone has to die for your mistakes again, Wincheste_ r — when Mrs. Pritchard catches his arm.

“Dean, I think you should go back to your room and break the news to your husband. I’m almost sure he’s the last person who talked to Stan and Sally, so I’m guessing the cops will come for you both at some point,” she says,wiping her face with a tissue.

Dean nods in agreement, suddenly realizing that Castiel isn’t there amongst the group of people standing around in the hallway. Which means he doesn’t know yet.

Great. As if this night could get any worse at this point.

“Okay. Let me get you back to your office first, you look like you’re about to pass out,” he answers, extending his arms, guiding her out through the hallway.

It takes them a couple of minutes to get there and once Dean is certain the therapist isn’t going to faint, he leaves and makes his way to his bedroom while avoiding the rest of the residents — everyone seems to be out there, except for Cas.

He pushes the bedroom door open, suddenly fearing that Castiel might have left (after all, he wouldn’t blame him at this point), but the angel is right there lying in bed, reading god knows what book he’s managed to get his hands on. And he’s wearing those damn navy pants with Dean’s shirt just like the night before. It’s like a punch in the guts every time Dean just looks at him.

The hunter sighs loudly, somewhat relieved to find him here. The angel cocks an eyebrow at him, tilting his head on the side like he always does.

“You okay?” he asks as Dean drops on the bed, face meeting the pillows in seconds, “I thought you might have left,” he adds, and the way his voice breaks at the end make Dean feel even worse.

“I’d never leave you, Cas,” he says, raising his face up to watch the angel, “I thought we were passed that?”

“I don’t know, you seemed so angry at me.”

Dean raises on his elbow, watching as Cas lowers his book — “The Song of Achilles” by Madeline Miller, the hunter reads on the cover — his eyes locking-in with the angel’s.

“I wasn’t angry at you, Cas. I was angry at me.”

“Why?” he tilts his head again, and Dean’s heart sink.

“I…” he starts, wondering how he could translate everything into words, then deciding not to, “It doesn’t matter. Something happened, Cas. Stan and Sally…”

Dean doesn’t finish his sentence, letting the rest of it hang in the air until Castiel’s face gets paler as he understands.

“Oh, no… What happened? When?” he asks, tossing his book to the bedside table.

“I don’t know, I was outside talking with Mrs. Pritchard in front of the building and we saw the cops and an ambulance come in so we rushed back inside, and… It was bad, Cas.”

“Did you gather any intel? I thought the Algea only went after couples who had troubles, but Stan and Sally seemed to be the only couple who didn’t have any major problems if you put all their bickering aside.”

“Yeah, and they were killed having.. well, uh. Kinky sex. Which doesn’t fit the M.O. Not the kinky part, just the sex part.”

Cas tilts his head again, this time with a wondering look on his face.

“Kinky?” he asks, looking at Dean without blinking an eye.

Dean can barely contain a massive eye-roll, making Cas’s frown grow even bigger.

“Kinky as in ‘naughty’.Weird, deviant if you will,” Dean finally explains.

“How does one have deviant sex?” Cas seriously wonders, and it takes everything in Dean not to burst out laughing, “maybe we should call Sam in.”

“What, to ask him what he knows about kinky sex?”

This time, Cas rolls his eyes so hard Dean’s slightly afraid the whole world is going to shake, and he can’t suppress his loud laughter at the sight. Castiel returns his wide grin and Dean instantly feels lighter.

_He still won’t want you, not today, and not in a million years, Winchester._

“You’re an idiot. I meant we should call him in, tell him what happened and see if there’s anything in the lore about creatures who go after both struggling couples and happy couples having deviant sex,” he adds, watching as Dean buries his head back in the pillow with a loud groan.

“I don’t want to call him in, he’s out with Eileen somewhere on the West Coast and quite frankly, he deserves a break.”

“Well quite frankly, so did we. Yet here we are.”

“Aww, Cas. I thought this was our vacation?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“I can say it once more if you want me to.”

“You’re too fucking playful at this time of night, dude.”

“No, I’m not, I'm being realistic.”

Dean smiles into the soft tissue of the bedcover, realizing they got back to their easy banter as if nothing happened. He finally rolls on his side, locking eyes with his partner.

“Do you want to hit the lore?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I’d rather go to bed. We don’t have anything before therapy tomorrow at 11, that leaves us enough time to research before,” he finishes before yawning hard.

“Okay Rip Van Winkle, let’s get you to bed, alright?” Dean says, getting up on his two feet and grabbing his nightclothes — his old Zeppelin ’73 tour that he’s owned for at least 3 decades, and a pair of black sweatpants matching Cas’.

“Technically, I’m already in bed…” Cas adds.

Dean is very pleased to realize Cas is still watching him while he strips from his day to nightclothes in front of him, completely unbothered. He’s about to ask if he likes what he sees — damn it’s hot seeing Castiel looking at every inch of his skin like this — when the voice in his head slams his thoughts away with a distinctive _“you’ll fuck him up too, so just back away and don’t”._

“Okay, FYI, if we’re sleeping together every night until we get through this case, I’m using you as my personal pillow,” Dean says with a sigh as he drops on the bed, “D’you mind?”

He slips under the covers, almost praying for Cas to say something along the lines of “ _Yes, please fucking use me_ ”, or more realistically something resembling a simple “yes”. But suddenly Castiel is right there inside his personal space, his scent everywhere around Dean as he pushes him back into the mattress and presses his whole body against him.

“I don’t mind, but I’d rather have you as my personal pillow than the other way around,” he says, dropping his head in the crook of the hunter’s neck just like the night before, “do _**you**_ mind?”

Ah, that playful tone again. Dean could almost sigh in content at the feeling of deep satisfaction the whole thing gives him.

“I don’t mind, babe,” he says, brushing a light kiss on Castiel’s forehead as his arm gently closes around his waist, bringing him even closer.

_He told you not to call him babe, why are you even trying?_

Castiel pulls even closer, his nose brushing against Dean’s skin on his throat while the hunter extends an arm, turning off the lights.

“You know, at some point, we’re gonna have to talk about the fact that you’re sleeping a lot more lately, or how you need coffee in the morning and meals more often,” Dean adds, his arm coming back around the angel’s waist, settling in against his back.

Most of the time, Dean tries not to dwell on it too much. Whenever Castiel would be ready to assess this, he’ll be here waiting. But it is becoming an almost daily situation, with Cas falling asleep almost every night for a couple of weeks now, and the coffee situation started almost 2 months ago.

“Sure. Whenever you’re ready to talk about why you were so angry at yourself you chose to literally run away from me and this room instead of talking to me, we can talk about it,” the angel mutters against Dean’s neck, the warmth of his breath giving Dean goosebumps.

“Yeah, okay,” he sighs, rolling his eyes in the darkness of the room, “you’ve made your point.”

_I’ve been in love with you for more than a decade and I don’t think I can survive the look on your face when you ultimately reject me._

_Kissing you, calling you “babe” and being your husband all day gives me a sense of happiness, but happiness is always a lie, it gets people killed._

_I’m terrified of what I feel, and I’m terrified of losing you if you ever find out how I feel. That’s why I always run when it gets too complicated to keep it inside._

_Because it doesn’t matter how it hurts to keep this to myself if I get to spend a few more moments by your side. That’s why I run. That’s why I keep running away from you._

But of course, this all stays inside.

“I’m serious, Dean. This is exactly what we talked about in therapy today —“

“Cas, it’s an undercover case, it’s not like we’re _**really**_ going through therapy,” Dean interrupts him, and immediately feels Castiel tense up against him.

“So what? Our issues are real, even if we’re not the lovely Cartellones. You’re always doing that,” he almost growls, obviously fed up by Dean’s assessment.

“What?”

“Whenever you’re angry at something you always decide that it’s best to move away from the people who love you and brood in a corner by yourself without telling anyone what’s really bothering you. It’s infuriating, Dean.”

“It’s just the way I am.”

“Well, like I already said, just because you’re that way doesn’t mean you can’t change.”

“This is just my way of coping, Cas. I don’t know how to do that without storming away from everything.”

“Well, it hurts the people around you when you do it. It hurts Sam. It hurts Jack. And it hurts me, most of the time, even if I do understand why you do it.”

Dean’s heart crushes at the single thought of hurting Cas. He’s not oblivious to the fact that he hurt him before, and he still hates himself for it. But having Castiel lying tightly against him, his low voice resonating inside his throat where his lips are almost pressed up, saying to his face that he keeps on hurting him… That’s another level.

“I’m sorry. I never mean to hurt you,” he says, his eyes closing on impact.

“I know you don’t. So change. Talk to me. To Sam. To Jack. Hell, to anyone. Stop pushing people away.”

“It’s easier said than done, Cas.”

“Just give it a try. For me.”

Dean swallows hard at the thought of actually telling Castiel why he ran away earlier, when the angel’s hand finds its way under Dean’s shirt and he starts stroking the skin of his back almost absently. If he wasn’t so self-conscious right now, the hunter is almost sure his touched starved self would moan disgracefully at the single touch of Cas’s fingertips along his skin.

The hunter sighs in content instead, Castiel’s head finding its rightful place and settling in the warmth of his neck. There’s newfound confidence and some drops of bravery left in Dean when he actually stretches his left arm out and cards his fingers gently inside Castiel’s hair.

When he groans in content, Dean could swear the shiver that goes through his entire body could light up Antarctica.

“We should do that more often,” Cas says, his voice drowsy like he’s minutes away from drifting off into sleep.

“What? Talking?”

“Cuddling. Sleeping together. Kissing.”

Wait.. _what?_

“You’d wanna do that… more often?” he asks warily, not wanting to jump to conclusion too fast here and get his heart smashed into pieces, “With _**me**_?”

“Who wouldn’t want that?”

“Hold on, let me pull up a quick list for you here: hum, everyone? I’m a lost cause, Cas. I’m not worth it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, babe,” he says, placing a soft kiss on Dean’s jawline, his lips brushing against the light stubble of his cheek, “you deserve everything. All of it.”

Suddenly it’s like Dean can’t breathe anymore. It takes him almost a minute to recover, and by then the angel’s slow breathing indicates that he’s already fallen asleep, despite Dean’s heart thundering like crazy right there where he’s lying against him.

Dean’s hand is still inside Castiel’s hair, and he keeps on softly stroking it as he watches him sleep, the dull light of the moon illuminating the angel’s features in the dark.

It’s actually insane how beautiful he looks. The way the white soft light caresses the line of his jaw, the stubble that grew on his cheek looking even more magnificent by the minute.

“I love you,” he murmurs into the dark, well aware of all the implications these three little words bring, and taking advantage of Cas being asleep to say them before drifting into sleep moments later, “I love you so much, for so long already. I just wish I wasn’t this person, that way I wouldn’t fuck you up. I can’t risk that. I can’t risk losing you.”

His arms tighten around the angel, and he drops a soft kiss against Cas’s hair. The last thing he remembers before giving up to sleep is thinking he could have so much more if he only stopped hating himself so much.

*******

When Dean awakes the next morning, the sun is filling the room and the first thing he feels is cold.

He extends an arm already searching for Castiel but only meets cold sheets and an empty bed. He opens his eyes, groaning as the light attacks his irises, quickly assessing that the room is empty except for him.

There’s a pit in his stomach as he sits up and reaches for his phone, and he kinds of hate himself at the bitterness he can already feel inside his throat.

What if he left? What if he doesn’t remember what he said last night? What if he doesn’t want to talk about it because he figured out how fucked up it would be?

The screen lights up and tells him it’s 8 am already. There’s a text from Sam asking if they’re okay and how the case is going, a couple from Jack rambling about the superhero hole he dived into while they’re away, but nothing from Cas. Dean quickly texts him, hoping to have an answer that suppresses this uncomfortable feeling inside of him. And sure enough, his phone beeps half a minute later.

Dean sighs in relief, dropping back on the mattress. He lingers for a moment, his face pressed up against the pillows. Cas’ scent is everywhere, and no matter how hard he tells himself he’s such a cliché about this, it really does wonder on his mood.

Cas said he liked kissing him.

Cas said they should do it more often.

He’s still not sure he really believes it, but it still makes him giddy inside.

_You’re not a schoolgirl, Winchester. That was probably just your head talking to yourself. No way Castiel could want that with you._

When Castiel finally appears 20 minutes later with a box of donuts in one hand and two cups of coffee in the other, sporting a brand new light blue shirt — _I swear to God I will kill you for making me endure this, Sammy_ — Dean is buttoning his own very new emerald shirt while whistling to Led Zeppelin.

“You’re in a good mood,” Castiel says, putting down the box and one cup of coffee for Dean to drink on his bedside table.

“Do I detect a surprised tone in your voice?” Dean answers playfully, opening the donuts box like it’s going to disappear.

“Well, you’re usually pretty grumpy until you’ve gotten your first coffee.”

Dean rolls his eyes at him, shoving half a donut inside his mouth. Castiel is still watching him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Dean can’t help but notice how good that new shade of blue suits him, and he mentally smacks himself for it.

“So, did you find out anything useful?”

“Sort of. I still think we’re hunting an Algea, but I found out that they like to kill couples while they’re having sex. Something about the taste being sweeter, according to the books I’ve found.”

“Fucking great,” Dean mutters, finishing his coffee, “so they just kill them while they’re getting some sweet time just because they taste better if they do? Silver still kills it though, nothing wrong in your book about that?”

Cas nods, watching as Dean comes closer. He reaches for his collar with a smile, unbuttoning the shirt further down a little. The angel looks at him with a frown on his face.

“What’s wrong with my shirt?”

“Nothing, I just think you look better when it’s unbuttoned a bit more, just like that.”

Pleased with his work, Dean uses the last drops of bravery he has left and reaches for Cas’s cheek, his thumb brushing over the angel’s cheekbone with a light touch.

And immediately senses Castiel tense up, as he crosses his arms across his chest while averting Dean’s gaze.

Well, if Dean had been looking for any kind of answer, he’d guess that would be it.

_What the fuck did you expect, Winchester? I’ve been telling you for two days, and over a decade: he doesn’t want you. Isn’t that enough for you to finally believe me?_

He removes his hand as quickly as if he’d been burned, and immediately back off, dropping on the edge of the bed to supposedly puts his boots on — it’s a very practical position to avoid looking at Cas and right now, looking at Cas to see the colors of rejection and disgust painted on his face is pretty much the last thing he wants to do.

“I’ll just… Meet me in the common room when you’re ready, alright?”

Castiel’s voice dropped a tone, like it does when he’s uncomfortable or doubtful. When Dean raises his head to watch him leave, he gets a glimpse at the sadness in the angel’s eyes right before the bedroom door slams shut and he’s left alone.

The emptiness he feels growing inside himself is perhaps even worse than the rising pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find my chaotic self on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com), amongst other things.


	5. Broken Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's dive into the "Castiel side of it all", shall we?
> 
> (It's angsty. I'm not sorry. There's still an "angst with a happy ending" tag, please don't be TOO mad at me.)
> 
> ———
> 
> Friendly reminder that English is **not** my native language, so there's likely going to be mistakes! Please bear with my french ass :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm posting this slightly later than usual, but this chapter took a lot out of me and I really wasn't completely satisfied with it until now. It was really important for me to write it, as I wanted you guys as reader to understand what's going on inside Castiel's mind before diving back into Dean's mayhem. At this point, I'm not sure I'll alternate between the two POVs on a regular basis (like, on a "one chapter Dean, one chapter Cas" occurrence), but I'll definitely come back to Cas's side at some point!
> 
> I'LL LEAVE YOU TO THE ANGST NOW.  
> (*quickly steps away before getting punched in the damn face*)

There’s an urge in the way Castiel reaches for Dean’s chin and kisses his lips right there for everyone else to see, a desperate attempt at feeling like they belong, as if any of this was true. It’s soft and deliciously normal, and if Cas didn’t catch himself he’s pretty sure he’d release a sinful little moan into the heat of Dean’s mouth. He can feel how his partner melts against him a little and somehow that makes it even more worth it.

But suddenly Dean is gone and he finds himself worrying as he watches the hunter’s silhouette fade away down the hall to their room. He tries to keep his composure in front of Stan and Sally — they’re on a case and these two seem to quite literally be their best shot at getting some actual answers since they’ve come here for the last three decades — but he can’t help worrying about his partner.

He’s known Dean for about 12 years, and despite everything going to shit around them multiple times, despite his angelic dispositions running low, he can still read him almost like an open book most of the time, from the way his green eyes glimmer with something impenetrable like he’s already miles away to the self-deprecating smile unfolding on his lips two seconds before heading out.

_He’s spiraling. He’s in pain. He’s scared._

Castiel doesn’t know why, and it frightens him to realize he might not be able to help.

But he still continues the small-talks he has going on with Stan and Sally because the elderly couple really is lovely and even if he’s almost sure they’re not guilty of anything, he still learns a ton of useful stuff.

Like who’s new to the facility since the last time they were here. Or how they were two murders in the same building two decades ago. He makes a mental note to research these murders when he gets to the library, preferably tomorrow if they manage to squeeze some time.

He finally makes his way back to their room fifteen minutes later, after promising Stan and Sally to have coffee with them tomorrow. He pushes the bedroom door a little bit too eagerly and finds Dean sitting at the edge of the bed they’ve shared the night before, a flask fitting tightly inside his palm.

Castiel has seen this before, too many times to count. The way Dean curls around a bottle or a glass of whisky, the look of a thousand different agonies painted on his face. Most of the time he wishes he could take it all away, to reach out and fit his broken pieces back together again like he’s done when he rose him from hell what feels like a lifetime ago.

But this time worries quickly fade away replaced by a wave of dull anger quickly rising as he watches Dean take a sip from his flask.

“What is wrong with you?” he asks, and he just knows by the sound of his own voice that he’s being irrationally brutal.

He knows damn well it won’t do any good, but he just can’t help himself. They’re on a case — no matter how good it feels to have Dean’s lips on his every now and then, no matter how right it feels to hold his hand — and people are dying, so Dean doesn’t get to call it quits in the midst of an interrogation just because he needs his alcohol fix.

Judging from the way Dean’s shoulders slump a little, and how he’s still averting his gaze, Castiel can guess where they’re headed.

“Dean… What the hell is wrong with you?” he asks one more time, not bothering tuning his anger down, “they were our best shot at having more answers and you just… you bailed out on me.”

Dean takes another sip, his eyes closing as the liquid goes down his throat. Seeing him like this has always hurt Castiel, the sense of hopelessness he gives off stinging right in the middle of his heart.

Dean blurts out some lame excuse about not being able to fight with him right now, like he has a choice in the matter. It irks Cas’s senses. He’s almost lost everything that made him an angel by this point, including his composure, and he can almost feel his blood boils as he watches the hunter shriveling in his own pool of low self-esteem.

“Did you… left me behind so that you could get drunk?” he asks, and Dean finally glances back at him, his green eyes prickling with something Castiel can’t seem to grasp just yet, a half-assed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I can’t get drunk on 8oz of whiskey, babe.”

“Don’t “babe” me, Dean. I’m not your babe. I’m your partner, we’re on a case, and you’re ditching me in the middle of an investigation so you can get back to your pity party and drink your night away! What the fuck is WRONG WITH YOU?!”

He knows he’s wrong. He knows it won’t get him anywhere. And he knows he’ll regret using these words, but right now he doesn’t find it in him to _care_.

There’s a galaxy of different emotions outlining right in front of him on Dean’s features as he rises from the spot he’s been curled up at for 20 minutes, grabbing his jacket and going for the door.

Castiel suddenly realizes that Dean is leaving and there’s a rampant line of fear clinging to the bottom of his stomach as he reaches for the hunter, his palm solid on his chest.

_Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me._

There’s a small talk, about Dean needing air, about Castiel not wanting to let him go. Dean asks why, and Castiel doesn’t find it in him to explain how it terrifies him to think one day Dean might wake up and leave him behind.

He doesn’t find it in him to just ask him to stay, because he feels hollow whenever he’s not around, because Castiel is becoming more and more human every day and it gets even more hard to shove what he feels down his throat.

“Let me go before I hurt you, Castiel.”

His voice is hoarse and low, but it hurts him as much as if Dean had screamed inside his ears. He moves over, watching as his partner slams the door shut, and suddenly he’s alone.

There’s a hole growing inside his chest, a dark little spot that nests close to his heart. He’s known Dean for more than a decade and despite reading inside his eyes like he would read an open book, he has been proven unable to prevent him from going into this deep insidious self-destruction mode over his own self-loathing.

Because Castiel knows Dean as he knows himself by now, and Dean only ever runs when he cannot stand being in a room with his own disgust and someone else to witness the crumbles of his self-hatred fall apart.

And it hurts, knowing he doesn’t feel safe doing it in front of Cas, somehow. Because Castiel knows he’d never judge him, or shame him for it. He knows he’d just be right by his side, waiting for him to feel safe enough to talk.

But Dean keeps running, away from him.

Castiel wonders if he’s ever going to stop running at some point. Or if he’s going to wake up one day to find himself alone in the grand scheme that seems to be his life, now.

He stays in that same spot for a while, his eyes lingering on Dean’s clothes scattered around his side of the bed. His mind drifts off after a moment while he’s picking up the hunter’s black and triumphant green flannel from the floor, gently folding it and putting it back on his duffle back.

He kicks his boots over after some time and settles on his side of the bed, his mind drifting off to Dean’s lips, Dean’s hand carding through his hair, Dean’s scent hitting his nostril in full force, Dean’s tongue lingering on his lower lip.

Castiel doesn’t think he’s ever experienced so much bliss as he has while kissing Dean, but then again he’s been experiencing everything more acutely, ever since…

Yes, that’s a topic he’s not really ready to touch down on just yet.

Dean has tried, multiple times by now, carefully mentioning the fact that Castiel has been demanding coffee every morning for the past two months, or how he now needs full nights of sleep several times a week to keep going. He’s tried, but he never pushed either, despite knowing very well what’s been happening behind the scene, but nevertheless letting Castiel choose when to talk about it, and for that, he feels grateful.

And as much as Cas would like to shy away from the subject, he knows he’s gonna have to come clean at some point. Because at the rate this is going, he is going to be human in a matter of days. And both Sam and Dean deserve to know.

He sighs loudly, his eyes rising to the ceiling, both his hands behind his head.

He wouldn’t change a thing, obviously. He’s not particularly sad or angry about it, either. But the fact is, he can clearly feel his grace distinctly fading away from him every hour and there’s a strange emotion attached to it. It feels odd, knowing he’s losing what made him an angel for multiple millennia.

But there’s also a sense of purity in the process, like he’s somehow purging something out of his system. Sins, mistakes, choosing humanity over Heaven — his Home— choosing the Winchesters over his Family, choosing Dean over everything else.

Because all of it goes back to Dean, really.

He had led armies through countless battlefields, witnessed humanity being born into the world, watched the many wars that raged through Earth over centuries, but somehow everything changed when he laid his eyes on Dean’s soul in Hell.

He briefly wonders if Dean is okay, momentarily fears that he might have left never to return but quickly eyes the Impala’s keys on the hunter’s bedside table. He kind of hates himself at the slight relief that courses through his body at the sight.

He reaches for his duffle bag, quickly finding the sweatpants Dean packed for him and the shirt that he borrowed from him last night.

It smells like him.

_It smells like Home._

*******

When the door finally opens again, Castiel is so absorbed in a book he’s found inside his nightstand — a rewriting of the Iliad from the point of view of Achilles’ inseparable companion, Patroclus — that he doesn’t register Dean’s presence right away, until there’s a loud sigh and he finally raises his eyes just in time to watch Dean drop on the bed face first.

“Are you okay?” he asks, genuinely concerned, “I thought you might have left,” he adds because he can’t help being a needy little thing for a minute.

“I’d never leave you, Cas,” Dean says, his eyes locking-in with his, Forrest of green dancing inside his irises, “I thought we were passed that?”

He’s right, obviously. Castiel thought so, too. But perhaps he now has less self-control over his fear than he used to. Seeing Dean so angry, making a beeline for the exist instead of talking to him…

“I don’t know, you seem so angry at me.”

He hates the way his voice break at the end. He hates the hurt he can witness flicker over Dean’s face for half a second even more. He has to fight the urge to reach out — _you’re not that kind of person Castiel, you’re not supposed to be a touched starved mess_ — when Dean lifts his head up and suddenly all he can see is the deep shade of green inside his eyes.

“I wasn’t angry at you, Cas. I was angry at me.”

 _Oh_. Well, that such a _Dean thing_ to say.

He asks why, but the hunter quickly cut it out, informing Cas that something happened to Stan and Sally.

They were killed. While having sex. _Kinky sex_ , as Dean highlighted.

Castiel doesn’t even know what it means, but his reaction seems to make his partner prone to laughing. And he likes seeing Dean like this, after witnessing his meltdown an hour and a half ago. So he plays the part, despite the deep hurt he feels at knowing the lovely Stan and Sally have been killed and that they’d most likely still be alive had Castiel not left in a hurry.

“How does one have deviant sex? Maybe we should call Sam in,” he weighs in, and the laugh he gets from his performance is worth just a thousand more because now Dean is _smiling_.

So he keeps going, and it’s easy and nice to get back into their usual banter. Dean’s smile grows bigger, the dimple on his cheek goes softer, and there are these little wrinkles that appear alongside his eyes when he laughs that make Cas’s heart grows ten times.

He’s trying to repress a yawn when Dean asks if he wants to hit the lore. He’s slept through the whole night yesterday, and yet there he is, ready to drop dead asleep at 11 pm. It’s starting to get on his nerve.

“Okay Rip Van Winkle, let’s get you to bed, alright?” Dean says, and his voice is so soft Cas could practically melt into it.

He’s in a sort of dizzy state, his mind drifting off as he watches Dean literally stripping in front of him. Not that he would mind: Dean looks gorgeous. He always has, but Castiel thinks he’s becoming even more magnificent while time passes. He usually tries to keep himself in check, but it’s been proven more difficult every day lately. Especially with a galaxy of freckled-skin opening up right in front of his eyes for him to see.

He watches carefully as the hunter removes his shirt, his eyes observing the way his shoulder blades move under his skin while he tosses the shirt in a corner, following every movement of Dean’s back muscles before he puts his Zeppelin shirt back on.

His brain seems to be living a life on its own, so much so that he doesn’t even think before reaching for Dean as soon as he’s in bed. Dean is talking about Cas being his personal pillow, which somehow warms Castiel up from the inside.

The smile that he gets from Dean once he says something along the lines of “ _um no, I’m sorry but you’re mine, and I’m taking this very seriously_ ” makes it all worth it, and once Castiel finds his way to his new favorite sleeping spot — the warmth and softness of Dean’s neck — he feels like if the world decided to end right here and right now, he couldn’t even find a single tiny drop of fuck left to give.

Shifting closer to Dean, breathing in his scent like it’s a remedy to his angelic issues, Castiel realizes that he’s never felt this safe, ever. Even in Heaven, where he belonged not so long ago. He hasn’t felt this good in a long time — _maybe centuries_.

Dean is trying really hard to make him talk, emphasizing the sleep and coffee he’s been getting more of lately, but Cas really doesn’t want to talk about it. At least not right now, while his entire body is pressed up really tight against Dean’s, not when the only thing he manages to think about is how good and safe he feels, how this should be an everyday situation, how he wants this to become an everyday habit.

So he deflects instead, turning the conversation on Dean’s inability to talk about his issues and choosing to run away instead, and how much it hurts everyone around him including Cas.

One of his hands absently slips under Dean’s shirt and starts stroking the bare skin of his back, and he can almost feel the content radiating under his fingertips, the hunter sighing quietly in the silence of the room. Dean’s fingers are carding through his hair suddenly, and Cas can’t help but groan at the feeling, his mind exploding under the touch and his eyes closing.

“We should do that more often,” he says, trying really hard to keep composure but failing, miserably so.

“What? Talking?”

“Cuddling. Sleeping together. Kissing.”

Castiel would gladly do anything for this to become a regular occurrence. Including having Dean’s mouth over various body parts on daily occasions.

The disbelief and doubt he hears in Dean’s voice when he asks for confirmation of what he just said could almost break his heart. It always hurt realizing Dean really thinks he doesn’t deserve anything, because, in his book, Dean deserves the whole world.

So he pulls closer, raising his head to softly kiss Dean’s jaw, his lips rubbing along the stubble of his cheek, hoping his actions translates somehow into what he means deep down.

It’s not easy for him, making himself understood through his gestures and words. It’s a new thing he has to learn, slowly coming to grip with what it’s going to feel like to be fully human in the next few weeks.

“That’s where you’re wrong, babe. You deserve everything, all of it.”

And he really means it. If Dean asked for the Moon, Castiel would be the first to board a space shuttle with a round-trip ticket.

Because that’s what Dean means to Castiel.

The godforsaken Moon, and the whole damn galaxy with it.

*******

The room is pitch black when he awakes.

There’s still an utter feeling of rightness longing inside of him as a quietly and reluctantly drifts away from Dean’s warmth. The hunter is peacefully asleep, both his arms curled around Cas’s body, maintaining them in a tight embrace that Castiel feels criminal for exiting.

Cas takes a moment to observe him. It’s been a while since he’s watched over an asleep Dean, and he somehow forgot how content and lighter he looks like he finally got rid of carrying the weight of the world on his shoulder for a while. Even his features seem looser, as if he had relaxed all the way into bed.

He looks utterly beautiful.

And there’s a needle going at Castiel’s heart, because he knows he’s not allowed. To feel, to receive, to deserve.

Castiel might stop being an angel tomorrow, but it’ll never take away the fact that he fucked up so many people’s lives.

Sam and Dean’s lives, so many times.

He betrayed, killed, made countless big mistakes.

But he still loves, so endlessly. And he still doesn’t deserve a single drop of it all.

There’s newfound bitterness rising at the back of his throat as he rips his gaze away from Dean. He reaches for his phone, finds out it’s 4:22 am, which might be too early for the library but early enough for him to get some air before getting there when it opens. There’s a couple of unanswered texts from Sam and Jack.

He quickly shoots back some responses before rising to his feet, taking his sweats and shirt off to get back to the pair of jeans he wore yesterday, that new light-blue shirt and pair of brown boots that Sam had bought for him. For the last few days, wearing Dean’s clothes and stuff that Sam had chose and bought for him made him feel like he belonged, a sense of familiarity running over the fabric of the brand new shirts and jeans — Dean’s jeans — as if it meant that there were for him to own.

Now the feeling just tastes like sour on his tongue.

He shots a last glance at Dean, silently sleeping through the night, his face peaceful as ever, before running away through the darkness of the night.

*******

He’s been walking for what feels like hours when Castiel reaches Nashville’s city center. The air is crisp and keeps him awake, allowing his thoughts to flower inside his brain. It’s closer to 5:30 am now, and the city is quietly waking up. Cas watches as the buses pull over the road, taking the first round of workers through various parts of the town. It’s always been a small pleasure of his, witnessing a city coming alive again after-night as people start wandering across the streets again.

He eyes a gigantic billboard showing an ad for some random new tech featuring a smiling family. There’s a sudden burning sensation tugging at his heart as he finds himself wishing he could one day strive for building a real family, then quickly realizing he will never have that chance.

He never had normal. And despite having an experience at fatherhood with Jack, despite one day maybe working up the guts to tell Dean how he feels about him, Castiel still doesn’t think he deserves a shot at trying this family thing, let alone a normal-happy-family thing.

He eyes a coffeeshop opening on the other side of the road and quickly crosses the empty street, making a beeline for the scent of freshly brewed coffee and a well-earned first cup of caffeine. He’s obviously the first customer there, and he gets himself a nice cup of black coffee and a donut before sitting down close to the storefront, settling his computer in front of him.

The library doesn’t open until 9 am, but he still has a few hours before that to do some internet research and go there if he doesn’t find out everything he needs by then.

After 3 hours and at least 4 more coffee cups, Castiel is packing up his stuff when his phone beeps, signaling a text coming in.

A soft smile spreads on his lips as he quickly shoots a response to Dean, letting him know he’s on his way back. He hesitates for exactly half a second before ordering a couple of donuts and two cups of coffee to go. Dean can turn into a hot pile of mess if he doesn’t get his morning coffee, and the donuts are just a way for Cas to witness the excitement of Dean’s face.

There’s a different feeling hauling at Castiel’s guts as he quickly grabs a cab back to the retreat, balancing his coffees over his donuts box.

You need to stop playing the part, Castiel, because there’s nothing you can offer Dean other than sadness and hurt. But more importantly, you can’t afford to cause him more pain than you already have. He doesn’t belong to you, he never will, and you need to stop playing with his heart at some point because you’ll only end up damaging it even more. Do you think he deserves that?

No, Castiel doesn’t. Dean’s heart is already a broken shell, has been ripped apart so many times. In fact, all he ever wanted for Dean was happiness and love.

Two things he’ll never be able to provide for him.

You need to stop pretending like there’s anything really going on between you two. Because even if there was, there’s no way you could make it work without breaking him up. You’re providing a false sense of normalcy, sleeping inside his arms for the sake of a case when we all know you’re just doing it because you want to. But what happens when the case is done and you go away again, as you always do? Do you really want to break him up again?

Castiel doesn’t want to break Dean up. Even if it means letting go of his lips, even if it means sleeping away from his arms, even if it means keeping his hand clear from the hunter’s. He can happily lose it all, if it means Dean’s heart is preserved. If it means the pain he causes now prevents him from getting more pain in the end.

So when Dean reaches out to his face after he gets back, patting his thumb over his cheekbone in an overly soft gesture, his eyes eager and his face so damn tender, Castiel forces himself not to melt against the touch and freezes, folding his arms over his chest in a lame attempt at keeping Dean away, his whole body stifling at the touch.

He hates himself as he watches Dean’s gaze drop, his emerald eyes shining with hurt.

He tells himself it’s for the better as he quickly makes his way to the door, escaping the room before he changes his mind.

He can’t help but look over at Dean as he drops on the edge of the bed, the weigh of the world back on his shoulder.

_It’s for the best, Dean._

_I’m doing this for you._

Despite knowing it’s the right decision, Castiel’s heart still breaks as he leaves, knowing the taste of Dean’s lips and the warmth of his skin are now going to be distant memories locked up inside his heart for him to cry on.

Memories he’s going to cherish until the day his human-self dies, because apparently that’s the hill he wants to die on now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo yo yo! Quick reminder that new chapters drop every Monday(ish) — so, yeah. See y'all on Mondays from now on (or Sundays. Or Tuesdays, if work is kicking my ass). *finger guns*
> 
> Yell at me on [Tumblr](https://chaoticdean.tumblr.com) and get some sweet first look and sneak peek at chapters before it drops on my [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/HitTheRoadJus) (I occasionally ramble about SPN, music, fictional characters and soccer, because I'm that kind of lame).


	6. Till the stars don't shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get back on Dean's side, following the aftermath of Castiel's turn around. How do we move on from this?
> 
> _This chapter's title is from "Always" by Bon Jovi [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9BMwcO6_hyA)]_
> 
> ———
> 
> Friendly reminder that English is **not** my native language, so there's likely going to be mistakes! Please bear with my french ass :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to another Monday(ish) update! This should have been posted earlier than this, but I got into a fight between myself and an Ikea wardrobe, and I just couldn't let it win... Could I?
> 
> Thank you so much for your reactions over chapter 5 and the new banner! We've got some more texts this week, I hope you enjoy them! And I can't wait to see some more theories over what's going on in the comments, so feel free to drop any :)
> 
> Alright, let's dive into it.. Shall we?

Dean quickly tries to get his composure back, because that’s what he’s used to — take the heat, don’t dwell on it, get back to work as if nothing happened. Feelings get people killed, so shove it down your throat and don’t look back. It’s basic survival, and he’s learned this decades ago. Somewhere along the way, he became a master at compartmentalizing, which comes in handy.

Of course, this one particularly stings. But then again, it’s not like he hasn’t been warned about this. The little voice growing bigger and bigger every day inside his head was pretty adamant about this thing going on with Cas being nothing but a fake prop for the case.

_Yes, I did warn you, Winchester. But you didn’t listen, because you thought you were better than me. How could Castiel — an **angel of the Lord** , Dean — could be interested in a fucked up human being like you? He’s only here for the case, and once you’re both done here he will probably disappear for two weeks because he’s had enough of you like he usually does. And of course displaying your affection towards him make him uncomfortable, because he doesn’t want you! So quit it, keep your hands to yourself, and work the case. The quicker you both get out of here, the better it’ll be for both of you._

Dean winces at the voice, this fucked up mixture of his own and John’s, wondering when the hell he started letting it matter enough to hear it constantly going inside his brain. He finally collects himself from the spot he’s been sitting on the bed for at least 5 minutes. There’s a void inside his stomach, sour rising at the back of his throat.

_You’re being overdramatic, Winchester. You’re nothing but a soldier, soldiers don’t have the time for this. Get it together._

He finally gets control back over his body, gets up, and quickly exits the bedroom. When he reaches the common room, he immediately spots Castiel talking with what appears to be two cops, and remembers that Cas was the last person to see Stan and Sally alive. There’s a feeling of discomfort rising inside his guts, like Cas shouldn’t be dealing with this on his own, like he should be there with him.

But his mind flashes back to Cas’ face when he reached for his cheek, and there’s a burn rising over the discomfort, pain, and shame painted on his ego.

_He doesn’t need you, Dean. You make him uncomfortable. He doesn’t want you to touch him either. Just move out of the way and work the case, that’s what you’re meant to do. Ain’t it the only thing you’re good at?_

He turns his eyes to the other side of the room, where a number of people are sitting close together talking. Dean moves toward them and sits on a chair facing Steve, one of the employees of the retreat. He seems really worn out, and his eyes are red probably from crying.

“Hey Stevo — you okay, buddy?” he asks, his voice hoarse like he hasn’t talked in hours, “you don’t look okay.”

“Stan and Sally… This is just horrible. Awful, Dean, just awful,” he mutters, more to himself than towards him, “I only met them a couple of days ago, but they were so joyful and nice. It’s such a shame.”

“Hey Dean, I think they’re taking your husband away,” someone says, and Dean rises instantly, watching as Castiel is following the cops out without a glance at Dean.

“Cas!” he almost cries out and instantly hates himself for the way his voice sounds, “fucking hell what are you doing,” he mutters more for himself than anyone around.

He crosses the room and reaches for Castiel’s shoulder, the fabric of the angel’s shirt almost burning under his fingertips, right before the angel disappears through the door following the cops. He motions just enough for Cas to glance back at him without entirely turning back to face him.

“The hell are you doing?” he asks, anger rising up inside of him

“The cops want me to do a deposition back at the precinct. It’s fine, I’ll be back later.”

“It’s not fine, Cas. We don’t do depositions, you don’t have an actual name or social security number. I don’t either, I’m supposed to be dead. If you do this, they’ll realize something is wrong with us because there’s no Castiel and Dean Cartellone in the system. And that’ll raise the attention up to us when we both know the problem’s elsewhere.”

Cas suddenly stare at him wide-eyed, the realization hitting him. But then he seems to get his composure back in an instant, his features shifting.

“I’m an angel, Dean. I don’t need you to lecture me, and I don’t need you to save me,” he says while glaring at the hunter, his voice so cold Dean could actually shiver at the tone, “just keep working the case here, try and get some information from the residents. I’ll handle whatever this is.”

And just like that, the angel disappears and Dean watches as the door closes in front of his face, completely disgruntled by Cas’s somewhat new behavior. He hasn’t talked to him this way in years, and he shudders thinking back at the ice inside Castiel’s voice while he returns to the chair he occupied minutes before.

He tries to handle a friendly questioning of almost every person in the room, using a technique he has smoothed and polished for 3 decades already, before heading back to his bedroom with the firm intent of diving back into research, maybe calling Sam to let him know what’s going on and who he suspects — so far, there are 3 possibilities, but Dean is starting to suspect that Steve might be their guy — but he finds himself dropping on the mattress with an infinite sigh that could wake the entire country up.

_What the hell is wrong with Cas?_

Did something happen between Dean falling asleep with Castiel wrapped around him like a goddamn octopus last night and this morning when he came back from town?

Dean tries so hard to think back at every little detail that could have done anything to alter Cas’s behavior that his head starts to hurt after a while.

There’s literally nothing that comes to mind.

But there’s one thing he’s certain about: there’s something wrong with Cas. And he has no idea what.

*******

*******

That’s it, Dean is freaking pissed off at Cas now. Switching from being overly affectionate to being ice cold might be one thing — although it _does_ piss Dean off too — but purposely ignoring him, letting him think he might be in danger? That a whole other level!

_Oh, but he doesn’t own you one single fuck, Winchester, does he?_

Dean suddenly realizes that maybe Castiel has had enough and just left him there alone, tired of having to deal with him.

That’s the thing about all of this: Dean doesn’t have any trouble believing Castiel can leave him behind at any point. He’s used to being the one no one ever wants. People usually always need him for a while, like some tool you get rid off once you’re done with the remodeling. So to think that Cas had had enough of him and decided to call it quit didn’t even sound insane to him.

He still truly believes that’s what’s going to happen at some point, no matter how much it hurts. Castiel always ends up leaving, and even if he also always ends up coming back at some point, the leaving part never stops hurting.

Dean doesn’t mean enough to Cas for him to stay. So why the hell would he be enough for him on a daily basis, and why the hell did Dean every thought falling in love with his angel best friend was a good idea?

It’s not, it’s a stupid fucking idea, and it’s making him miserable.

Not that he actually chose to, but he still blames himself for it, because this is the dumbest fucking thing to ever happen to him.

It’s already 9 pm, and there isn’t any sign of Castiel coming back. Dean almost assumes he won’t be back tonight, and his heart tears up a little at the thought of sleeping alone again for the first time since they’ve arrived.

Somehow he’s almost sure it’s gonna be a nightmare night, and he just doesn’t have the strength to deal with this.

_When did you become such a needy fucker, Winchester?_

Somewhere between 4 decades ago and this very last second, Dean answers to himself with a self-deprecating groan.

He gets back into autopilot mode as he strips from his day to night clothes, putting on his Zeppelin shirt while he thinks back on the case — he’s almost sure Steve is clean after having him tested from pretty much everything, but he still has a couple of leads to chase.

He quickly texts Sam as he settles on the bed with his computer, letting him know how things are going. Even being lightyears away, Sam seems to grasps at what’s been going on in a span of roughly 5 minutes, which is both impressive and creepy, and it sets an awkward restless feeling inside of Dean, his breath hitching at his sides.

Cas hasn’t answered any of his texts since calling him “overdramatic” 3 hours ago, and he’s ignored every single one of Dean’s calls and texts since then.

Not only is it completely nerve-wracking and borderline stupid, but it’s also incredibly _dumb_. They’re on a case, and sure Cas is still an angel but it doesn’t mean he can’t get himself into massive troubles, like he usually does.

They were doing so well, Dean even contemplated opening up to the angel at some point for the first time in actual years, but all it took for everything to crumble was less than 24 hours and a massive unknown that took Castiel to change his entire behavior dramatically.

And Dean still has no fucking ideas what has been going on inside that big, beautiful dumb brain of his since whatever happened happened this morning, and it’s driving him completely insane now.

Did he talk in his sleep? Did he grasp at him too tight? Did he do something that Castiel considered “too much”?

_He’s just not into you, Winchester. You’ve got to stop getting your hopes up. You’ve known forever that this wouldn’t work, he’s just showing it to you. You’ve been imagining things._

But that’s just it, though. Dean _hasn’t_ imagined _shit_.

He didn’t dream up the way Castiel kissed him, brushed his lips against him, stroked at his skin gently, multiple times. Or the way he moaned against his lips the first time they brushed against each others. Or how he curled his whole body around him last night, sighing in content while he pushed his face against Dean’s skin.

He hasn’t made any of this up.

So what the hell happened that made the angel go from zero to sixty in less than 24 hours?

He dives into research for hours, looking up his phone just to see if Cas finally texts him back.

He doesn’t. Dean gets even more mad and tense, anger and worry rising up inside him. There’s a pool of anxiety dropping at the bottom of his stomach, so much so that he finds himself unable to eat anything remotely consistent other than a bag of chips and an old chocolate bar that has been sitting in his duffel bag for weeks.

When he finally turns the lights off, it’s after he’s finished playing a game with himself called “drink until you forget how to think straight”, and Dean is a fucking master at this game so of course he wins.

“Cas,” he prays before his mind can stop him, “come on, come home, baby”.

His mind is still reaching out for his angel when he finally drifts off to sleep, alone inside a bed that isn’t his own.

*******

“Cas?” Dean asks, his voice still rough with sleep as he suddenly jolts awake, startled by the feeling of another body being pressed up against his.

The distinct scent suddenly hits his nostril with full force, staggering him alert.

Honey, sandalwood, copper.

Something bitter, but also sweet and familiar.

Everything and nothing all at once.

Cas. _Cas_. **_Cas_**.

He’s back. He’s here. He’s pressing up against him like he doesn’t want to be anywhere else but breathing against Dean’s skin.

“Cas?” Dean asks again, voice smoother.

Castiel doesn’t respond, his face shuffling against Dean’s neck, his mess of hair and hot breath tickling the hunter’s skin.

Despite the warmth that spreads through Dean’s chest as he assesses the angel’s presence against him after a whole day of him being away, the hunter quickly realizes how uneven Castiel’s breath seems to be, how his body trembles against his, and it frightens him the fuck out.

He raises a hand to card through the angel’s hair, gently folding his other arm over Castiel’s back and bringing him closer against him. The angel practically melts against him, a soft whimper escaping his lips.

“Hey, angel — what’s going on, Cas? What’s wrong? Can I turn the light on?” 

Cas winces at that, so Dean doesn’t.

“Hey, you’re okay. Breathe in, Cas.”

Cas doesn’t breathe in. He seems to be losing even more control, pressing up harder against Dean, burying his hands on Dean’s side over his t-shirt.

The hunter tightens his grip, gently stroking over his back — suddenly realizing that Castiel his only wearing sweatpants, the naked skin of his back burning under Dean’s fingertips —, his finger massaging inside his hair.

“Breathe in, just like that. Come on, Cas, let me walk you through. Breathe in. That’s right, buddy, just like that. Now breathe out. You got this.”

A couple of minutes go by as Dean walks Castiel through what seems like a panic attack, just like Dean has experienced his whole life. When his breath seems less shaky and more even, Dean picks the conversation up again.

“Are you alright?” he asks with concern, because it’s the very first time in 12 years that he sees Cas lose control over himself.

“‘m fine” Cas grumbles, face hidden against the skin of his throat.

“Okay. Can you tell me if you’re hurt?”

“‘m not hurt, Dean.”

Again with the grumble. Dean can’t help but smile. The only thing that counts right now is that Cas is here, and he’s safe against him.

“What time is it?”

“4 am.”

“Where the hell have you been?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t care, Cas. I was so fucking worried about you,” Dean says, his voice sounding weaker and too damn needy,but by this point, he doesn’t find it in him to even care, "you can’t do that, it’s not okay. I thought you were in trouble, then I thought you got the hell out of town leaving me behind.”

“Dean, I’d never leave you.”

“Yeah well, I’m glad you seem so sure but for the record, I’m not. Don’t ever do that again. I don’t care if you’re pissed at me for whatever reason, hell maybe I even deserved it but don’t leave me in the goddamn dark ever again, Cas.”

There’s silence for a while, as Dean keeps holding Castiel tightly against him.

And then there are lips against his own as Cas launches an attack on his mouth, his tongue flickering over Dean’s lower lip as he kisses his way over Dean’s mouth. And as much as Dean whimpers against the assault, his heart exploding at the sudden burst of touch, there’s anger building up underneath his throat as he firmly pushes Cas away.

“Fuck off, Cas. You don’t fucking get to do that,” he pants, his voice dull with anger, “not after today”

Because today had hurt so damn much, seeing Cas stifling at every single one of his touch, watching him get away from him and then ignoring him all day.

Maybe it was Dean’s fault for hoping that things might finally change, that they might be walking up to something new, after all. He had been raised not to expect anything from anyone, so it really was his fault for expecting anything good to come out of this.

His anger almost flickers as Castiel lightly pads over the corner of his mouth with his thumb. The gesture is so damn tender and Dean is such a starved-touch mess that he almost moan at the touch. He can see him almost clearly in the darkness of the room, the white soft light of the moon illuminating his features just enough.

Until he registers the wetness falling over his skin.

Castiel is crying. And it breaks his heart in million of pieces, any anger now long gone and replaced by mixed fear and glooming sadness.

“Cas... What the hell is going on with you?” he asks, trying his very best not to come out too harsh.

“Humanity,” Cas breathe out in the quietness of the room, and suddenly Dean’s world goes spinning, “I’m tired, Dean. I’m so tired I don’t know how to do this anymore.”

“Do what, angel?” Dean asks, concern rising again inside his throat.

_What the hell does this all mean?_

“Dean,” he says, and it’s barely a whisper at this point, “I cannot sleep without you tonight”.

Big blue eyes glistening with sadness meet his, and he can see the flicker of pain inside. It stings inside his heart.

Dean envelopes him back into a tight embrace, his heart breaking as Cas nuzzles against his jaw, settling his face in the warmth of Dean’s neck where he slept through the last two days.

“I’m sorry” Cas finally says after a while, his voice a bit less shaky, but sadder.

Dean is almost sure it’s even worse.

“Talk to me, Cas,” he says, massaging the angel scalp gently, carding his fingers through the dark lock of hair.

“I can’t... I don’t... I don’t want to break you,” Castiel answers.

Dean doesn’t think he’s ever heard the angel’s voice sounds like this. Broken up, scared, out of breath. Exhausted. It feels like whatever Castiel has been through today broke him in millions of pieces that he’s been unable to pick up and patch back together.

“... break... me? Cas? Cas! Hey, Cas,” he says, trying to bring his partner back in focus as he seems to be drifting away, grabbing at his chin forcing him to look at him, “Hey? Why the hell would you break me?”

“It’s just what I do. I damage... people. I betray and I... I hurt, and I don’t... I never mean to, but I just do, and I don’t want to do that with... with you”

“Cas... That’s bullshit, baby.”

_Again with the pet names, Winchester? Like he doesn’t have enough on his plate as it is already?_

“I just... you deserve... you...”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“You deserve... so. much. more.”

“I don’t want more, fuck Cas what are you on about?”

He really doesn’t. All he needs is his angel.

“I don’t… know how to function… like this.”

“Like what, Cas?”

There’s a beat in the room, a moment of silence that Dean doesn’t feel like breaking. Because it’s not uncomfortable, it’s space for Cas to decide whether he wants to come clean or not. And Dean’s not gonna push either way.

But he doesn’t have to wait that long.

“I’m not an Angel anymore, Dean. Not really.”

His voice breaks at the end. Dean tightens his grip on his waist.

“I know, Cas.”

“You _do_?”

He sounds actually astonished as he raises his head to lock eye with Dean’s, a pool of blue in the horizon. Dean brushes the dark patch of hair that falls over his forehead away, letting his finger stroke lightly at Castiel’s cheek and jawline, pleased to notice the angel pushing into the touch, the frozen look of that last morning gone far away.

“I’m not that dumb.”

“I know you’re not.”

“I just started noticing stuff. How you slept through complete nights more often. The coffee situation. When you started eating the cheeseburger I made your order for the past decade without ever seeing you even think of eating it before. Stuff like that. I just… waited for you to feel comfortable enough to tell me. Us.”

There’s a shadow of a smile on Castiel’s mouth as Dean gently brushes the corner of his mouth, eyes still gazing at each other’s.

“And it doesn’t matter, baby. I don’t care.”

"It doesn’t?” Castiel asks, almost in disbelief.

“No, it doesn’t. I don’t care if you’re an angel or not. And I know Sam and Jack don’t either. You’re family. You’re m— you’re ours. Whether you're an angel or a human being or whatnot. I don’t give a shit, Cas, don’t you get it?”

Another beat in the room. Castiel presses his face back into the warmth of Dean’s neck, the hunter still carding his fingers through his dark locks. The silence is comfortable now, their breathing syncing with each other.

“I don’t think I deserve this.”

“Bullshit, Cas.”

“‘m sorry,” he says whimpering as if it hurts his whole soul, before he lets out a dramatic and enormous sigh, “I didn’t want to hurt you today. I needed air. To get away for a while. It was just… too much to handle, Dean.”

“You can always talk to me, you know that now?”

“I wasn’t ready to talk about it.”

“Did you tell Sam?”

“No. Not yet. I just… I need time. To get a grasp at this.”

“Okay. Baby steps.”

“What do you mean?” Cas asks, and Dean chuckles because he can almost hear the air quotes that are Cas’s trademark inside his voice.

“I mean, step by step. You don’t have to go fast. You’re not fully human yet, are you?”

“No. No, I still have a bit of grace left, but I can feel it slipping through my fingers every minute. I think it’s a matter of days now.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Castiel sighs again, his breath leaving goosebumps over Dean’s skin.

“I want to sleep for a month.”

“Still have a monster to catch, angel.”

“You gotta stop calling me that now, it’s factually incorrect Dean.”

Dean can’t help but let out a laugh. He can feel Cas shifting against him, the corner of his mouth no doubt sketching out a shy smile. It warms him up from inside out. It’s a win.

“You’ll always be my angel, Cas."

Castiel doesn’t answer, and Dean keeps petting his air, massaging his back, enjoying the warmth of Castiel’s naked skin against him as he drifts off to sleep tightly holding on to him.

_Do you really think you’re going somewhere with this, Winchester? That he’s not going to abandon you tomorrow again? That you deserve any of this? You’re just a tool, like always._

But Dean doesn’t care. He slams the voice away.

This is it, he is **it** for me. I don’t need anything else. I need to make it work.

Tomorrow will be theirs to win or lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New updates dropping on Monday(ish) unless I say so! See y'all next Monday, fuckers. *finger guns*
> 
> Yell at me on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/HitTheRoadJus) (I occasionally ramble about SPN, music, fictional characters, and soccer, because I'm that kind of lame).


	7. 'Til the heavens burst and the words don't rhyme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas finally get to use their words (!!!) in the aftermath of a trying day. As Castiel finally opens up, Dean's world falls apart.
> 
> _This chapter's title is from "Always" by Bon Jovi [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9BMwcO6_hyA)]_
> 
> Friendly reminder that English is **not** my native language, so there's likely going to be mistakes! Please bear with my french ass :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, peeps! Another non-Monday update, but Monday-ish enough, right? (although it might still be Monday in some part of the world)
> 
> Some mild spoilers ahead in this chapter if you're not caught up with Supernatural just yet, so read at your own risks! I can't believe my dudes finally use their words (after so many weeks hashtagging "USE YOUR GODDAMN WORDS ASSHOLES" it actually feels nice).
> 
> Thank you guys soooo much for all your comments on my latest chapter! I hope you like this one equally. As usual, feel free to drop any comments, questions, or yell at me in the comments section!
> 
> Enough talk, let's dive in!

Dean doesn’t immediately register the whole situation when he wakes up early in the morning. The sun is softly bathing the bedroom in a colorful honey dim light, and Dean hasn’t felt this safe inside a room that isn’t his own in decades.

Castiel is still pressed up tightly against him, his glorious dark hair tickling the hunter’s chin as he reaches for the covers to pull them over Cas’s bare skin. Dean can feel the steady breathing of the angel on the skin of his neck, and it’s sending chills down his spine. One of his hands lies possessively on the small of his back, tugging him closer.

He then reaches for his phone, making sure not to wake Cas up, and answers a couple of messages from Sam and Jack.

When he’s done, Castiel’s steady breathing seems to be faster, and the angel groans against Dean’s throat. The hunter cards his hand through Cas’s mess of hair, his other hand massaging his bare skin.

“Hey angel,” he says, his voice sounding parched, “come on, time to wake up”

_Again with the pet names, Winchester?_

Dean rolls his eyes at the voice. He doesn’t want to hear it anymore. It pisses him off.

Cas responds with a groan, shifting even closer (if possible), his hands digging possessively into Dean’s sides. The hunter brushes a ghost kiss on Castiel’s forehead, his hand still carding gently through his dark mess of hair.

“Come on, show me those baby blues.”

“Fuck off Dean, it’s too early.”

Dean scoffs at Cas grumpy voice. He isn’t used to this, but if this is Castiel’s new normal he has a feeling he’s gonna be loving it.

“Look at you swearing like a sailor!”

“I can swear in hundreds of different languages, don’t tempt me.”

“I think I’d actually like that. Can you talk dirty in hundreds of different languages, too?”

Cas finally opens his eyes, blue ocean pool glaring directly at the hunter as the sun slowly dips both their faces in the morning light. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, and Dean can’t help but smile back at his best friend.

He looks so good it physically hurts Dean’s entire being.

_God, Winchester, you’re so fucking whipped._

“Here they are. Morning, Sunshine,” Dean smiles as Castiel automatically shut his eyes again, groaning at the assault of the light, “on a scale of 1 to 10 — 1 being me, 10 being Chuck — how angelic are you feeling today?”

He sounds like a damn weatherman, but he truly needs to know. Although if Castiel’s awful morning breath is any indication, he’s pretty sure he’s feeling very human this morning. Not that he cares, but if Castiel-Angel-of-the-goddamn-Lord doesn’t get words wrong he also doesn’t usually get bad morning breath.

“Not very,” Castiel mutters against his neck, his voice still heavy with sleep as he sinks back into Dean’s shoulder, “I wish I could sleep for awhole month.”

“Still have a monster to catch, Cas.”

“I know, I know, I just… Do humans really feel this tired all the time?”

Dean chuckles at that, refraining from saying something along the lines of “Oh honey if you only knew”.

He does sound really tired still, but to be fair he did come back at 4 and it’s barely pushing 7 am right now. 3 hours of sleep might be enough for Sam and Dean who have been going their entire life on this kind of schedule, but for an angel who’s going human, Dean suspects it’s simply not enough.

“Well… Not to crush your hopes, but yeah. Don’t you remember when we first met and you didn’t understand why we needed to stop to get our four hours of sleep?” Cas nods against him, so Dean goes on, “this was why. But I guess since you’re basically going from actual angel to human being, maybe your body is going through more than just being averaged tired.”

“Dean, I feel awful.”

His voice sounds so bleak and defeated Dean has trouble breathing for a second. He hates hearing Cas like this.

“You’re going to be okay, Cas. I’m right here with you.”

“Well, what happens when you leave again?”

“Why the hell would I ever leave?”

Dean feels pretty offended that Castiel even thinks about asking this, but then he remembers that so many things have been left untold for so many years between them two — asking Cas to leave the bunker when he first became human is one of these, and although he did explain the reason behind it years back, it doesn’t change the fact that the event is probably still firmly imprinted inside Castiel’s mind. Dean still feels a wave of profound shame overcoming his senses whenever he thinks back to it. Even if he did it for a greater purpose (the greater purpose being Sam), he can’t deny it was wrong on every single level.

_Yeah, sure, Winchester. Like you wouldn’t kick him out in a matter of seconds if the same situation were to present itself again tomorrow._

No. Not tomorrow. Not ever again.

There’s never going to be any other scenario where he leaves Castiel behind now. Not after defeating Chuck, not after basically losing everything they had except each other.

He’d rather cut out his own limbs than ever having to leave Cas behind.

Because yeah, sure, he loves Sam to actual death, and there’s no situation where he would leave him behind either. But Cas? Castiel doesn’t take part in the equation anymore. He is never going to make choices between Sam, Castiel, and Jack. There are no choices to make between his brother, the love of his goddamn, miserable little life, and their kid.

So, yeah, the answer is always going to be no. Even if Sam’s or Jack’s lives are at stake and leaving a freshly human Castiel behind was the only solution to fix all of their problems, Dean wouldn’t do it. He would quit sleeping until he’d find a way to fix things, he would go to hell and back, he would kill whatever would come their way.

But he’s never going to make choices that would separate his family ever again.

There isn’t any galaxy or any timelines where Dean doesn’t choose Castiel anymore.

And to Hell with it.

“Cas, why would I leave?” he asks again, stiffer.

“You once said I was basically a baby in a trench-coat without my powers.”

“So?”

Cas squirms against him, seemingly uncomfortable, so Dean adds a “You can tell me, I’m not gonna bite” to the mix.

Well, not under the current circumstances, at least.

_Fucking whipped is what you are, Winchester._

“I used to think you only tolerated me around because you felt like you owed me. For the longest time, I felt like a burden constantly making mistakes in my quest to try and make things better. I always… I think I always thought at some point you would leave me behind, and now that I’m basically going powerless…”

“Cas —“

“What the actual fuck” is what he’s about to add, but his voice decides to break and he’s physically unable to pick the conversation up again.

Dean is honest to God appalled, so many emotions roaming through him as he quickly processes what he just heard.

For the last 12 years, Castiel has been constantly thinking Dean was going to leave him behind. He thinks Dean only tolerates him. He feels like he’s a burden that Dean carries around because he feels like he owes Cas?!

How the hell did this happens, and how did Dean of all people let it happen without even realizing it?

“Cas,” he finally says after a minute, heartbroken, “first off, I promise you I’m never leaving you. Okay? Never.”

_Really, Winchester? You’re making promises now, one you know you’re not sure you’ll keep?_

Dean rolls his eyes at the voice again. He quickly thinks back to the time he used to have enough control over himself to slam the voice down, silencing it for hours without even thinking. It’s been growing out of control for days now, and someday he wishes it would just go away.

Especially after the epiphany he’s had last night in the newly found quietness of the room, Castiel pressed up and falling asleep inside his arms.

_This is it, he is it for me. I don’t need anything else. I need to make it work._

Somehow, this realization sounds scarier, bigger in the morning light than it did last night. And although it does frighten him to the bones, there’s no scenario where he sees himself not committing to what he felt like last night. What he still feels like at the moment.

“Second, I’m so fucking sorry if we’ve ever made you feel like you were a burden, and I can’t believe you ever thought we kept you around just because we felt like we owed you. Cas, you’ve been by our side for 12 years, and there’s only one reason: you belong with us. You’re part of us. There are no Winchesters without you. There’s no saving the world, there’s no preventing the apocalypse, there’s no defeating Chuck without you by our side. You’re here because you’re one of us, because no matter what happens between us, no matter what we collectively or individually fuck up, no matter how pissed I am at you… No matter what Cas — Home is where we are together. You, me, Sam and Jack, we’re all we have. And sure, we all have our flaws and our complexes and our fucked up ways, but none of us would have it any other way. Because that’s what family stands for.”

_Well, who knew you could actually use your words, Winchester?_

Dean doesn’t even roll his eyes this time, focusing on the part of Cas’s face he can see while he keeps up the pace, determined to clear this up once and for all.

“Third, you’ve always watched over me before. Let me watch over you now. I know becoming human is basically like going from being Jimmy Page to Justin fucking Bieber, but I’ll do what I can to help you along the way. You need help figuring out what food you like the most? I’ll cook anything, take you to any damn restaurant or dive bar you want. You want to dive off a cliff, skydive, buggy jump? I’ll be your guy. You wanna get a tattoo, need help to cut your own hair, god knows whatever else we humans need to do? I’ll be right here. We can figure it all out, Cas. And I know both Sam and Jack will do the same, because we love you Cas. You got that? We love you, and there’s nothing you could say or do that would ever change that, buddy.”

His last words meet silence, Castiel completely still against him, so of course his mind races to the obvious questions the silence can’t hold anymore.

What if _**he**_ decides to leave? What if _**he**_ wants to be left alone, away from him? What if in the midst of him becoming human _**he**_ realizes that Dean isn’t worth the try?

All of his questions go silent when the aforementioned angel finally brushes a kiss inside the warmth of his neck that sends a shiver down his entire body. He gently curls his fingers inside the angel’s hair in response.

This actually feels like heaven. He would gladly sell his soul for this to become a daily occurrence and be damned with it.

_I see a pattern here, Winchester._

“Look at me,” Dean says, his voice rumbling against the words.

Slowly, Cas looks back at him, blue eyes big and, to Dean’s surprise, a bit of hope in the glimmer of his ocean blues, glistening as the sun shines higher and cast them in the morning light. His finger glides over Castiel’s rough stubble, cupping his cheek.

“Did you get all that?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I misunderstood.”

“I’m sorry it had to come to this for me to explain all of it to you. I thought you knew.”

There’s a glimpse of sadness again inside Castiel’s eyes, and Dean hates it instantly. But it quickly goes as he props himself up on his elbows, looking at Dean.

“Should I tell Sam?”

“Not if you don’t feel ready, but eventually, yeah.”

“I think I’ll call him later.”

He looks calmer, like a newfound purpose has finally found its way inside his mind, although he still looks exhausted.

“You need a shower to wake you up, and a teeth washing. Angel to Human, 1.01: brush your teeth first thing in the morning, and then after every meal. We’ll get to the specific later on.”

He winks at him as Cas raises to his feet, a weak smile on his lips.

“Okay. But first, maybe you could tell me what happened with Steve yesterday, and I’ll fill you up on what happened on my side?”

“Cas, Cas, Cas… Angel to Human, 1.02: coffee, first. Thought you knew that already?” Dean says playfully as he watches Cas roll his eyes so big he’s actually afraid the room is going to shake.

“It’s hard to keep track with you,” he answers with a grin, rubbing his eyes as he watches Dean rise up from the bed, grabbing his clothes.

“Angel to Human, 1.03: the last one to get to the shower fetches us breakfast from the common room!”

There’s a playful smile on Castiel’s lips as they race to the tiny bathroom suite like actual goddamn morons, and obviously, Cas wins and Dean complains miserably. But he would gladly lose over and over again if it painted the same smile on Cas’s face and if it made him laugh that same way every other time.

*******

They eat on their bed, as they both go over the details of what happened yesterday. Dean quickly explains how he tested Steve for everything using a silver pen and some holy water in a cup of tea, and that now Steve thinks they’re undercover cops working for the F.B.I — which in all fairness is still better than exposing themselves as a hunter and an angel-soon-to-be-human.

Castiel explains what he went through at the police station, explaining that he used some of his angelic powers to trick the cops into believing that Dean and Castiel Cartellone were indeed, real.

“You know that was reckless, right? You didn’t have to go with them, we could have handled it the way we usually do,” Dean scolds him as he watches his partner munch on a pancake.

He’s brought out a sample of basically everything the breakfast buffet had to offer for Cas to try, obviously taking his promises of helping Cas figure out what food he liked very seriously.

“I know. I just needed to clear my head away from here, and I figure it would be a good move.”

“Well, next time you need to get away, please give me a head’s up and I’ll take Baby anywhere you want to go clear your head at. Okay?”

“Duly noted. Are you gonna eat that?” Castiel asks, pointing at the plate of waffle in front of Dean

“Nah, I’m full. Knock yourself out.”

He watches as Cas keeps on trying every single stuff he brought back, figuring out he doesn’t really like cinnamon rolls but he’d kill for more pancakes, bacon, and eggs.

When Dean talks about making him his famous stack of pancakes when they go back home after the case, Cas’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean still has trouble believing Castiel will stay. He’s been used to Cas leaving him for God knows what reasons for years. And Hope is a thorny, painful little thing that usually tends to end in misery.

But there’s something in the way Cas looks at him as he drinks his last drops of coffee, something about the way he stares at Dean over the breakfast they share, something in the way he laughs at Dean’s stupid attempts to make him feel better.

Dean thinks that maybe, this time they have a shot at something good.

Maybe this time it doesn’t end in misery, and they start living in the moment again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually update every Monday, and if I ever miss one it's just because I'm either late, or because I got to adult a bit too hard or got into a fight with a stupid piece of furniture (pick your poison). See y'all next Monday, hopefully? *finger guns*
> 
> Yell at me on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com) and on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/HitTheRoadJus).


	8. And when there's nowhere else to run, is there room for one more son?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas go through another therapy session, one that will uncover a lot and leave them unpacking some of their deepest struggles. Sam finally wades in and calls Dean out on his denial, but _will it be enough for Dean to make a move?_
> 
> _This chapter is titled after lyrics from "All These Things That I've Done" by The Killers [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PZNF9Sc1F-M)]_
> 
> Friendly reminder that English is **not** my native language, so there's likely going to be mistakes! Please bear with my french ass :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to another non-Monday update _(this seems to be a pattern now_ ). As of now, I don't know if I'll keep holding on to updating on Mondays, but buckle up because there's still _a lot to come in upcoming chapters!_
> 
> Here we are, **Chapter 8**! It's a pivotal one, there's a lot of unpacking (and when I say **a lot** , I mean **a lot** ), and I have literally _wept_ through writing the whole thing. I hope this gives some sense of clarity as to why both Dean and Cas have been behaving the way they have.
> 
> For anyone who's not caught up with season 15, spoilers ahead!
> 
> On another note, I’ve decided to end this story with _**a total of 12 chapters**_. I’m currently diving into writing chapter 9 and I already know chapter 12 will be an Epilogue of some sort, probably with a time jump… This means I have _**4 chapters left to tie up this story**_ , and I’m really excited for you guys to see what I planned for the rest of it!
> 
>  _ **One final note before I let you dive into it — I don’t think I can ever stress this enough, but seeing the hits/kudos/comments count piling up on this little story that started as a one-shot really does things to my heart, and I'm already waiting to see how you react to this particular chapter!**_ 🌸

Surprisingly enough, Castiel almost feels good.

Sure, he’s still on the verge of becoming human and with that comes a lot of mixed-up things he has to come to grasp with— emotions, feelings, hunger, to name a few — but as he watches Dean get ready to dive back into the case, grumbling over his duffel about a shirt he doesn’t find, it feels like something has been lifted off his shoulders.

Having a panic attack in the middle of the night might be one thing, but experiencing your very first panic attack all alone as you try to make your way back to the only person that makes sense in all the nonsense is an entirely different thing.

Try mixing up a whirlwind of new sensations and emotions to an exhausted angel-soon-to-be-human, and it’s not really surprising that Castiel ended up holding on to Dean for dear life at 4 in the morning.

He never intended to crash into Dean like he did when he got back last night, never intended to collapse inside his arms like an actual tornado. Actually, it’s quite the opposite of what he wanted to do, since he had vowed to himself he’ll do his best to stay away from Dean as best as he could during the rest of the case.

The last thing he wanted to do was being a burden, and although the brothers might have needed him in the past, they surely wouldn’t have a need for him once he’s fully human. This was the only logical thing to do, quietly distancing themselves from each other until they were distant memories of another time, another life. Castiel felt the hurt, the way his heart cracked at the thought of letting go of the only thing that made sense to him, but it had to be the right thing to do here.

Maybe things would have been different 12 years ago, but last night? The simple thought of never seeing Dean smiling again, or humming Led Zeppelin in the car, or the distinct smell of Dean’s scent lingering on his clothes, or even having to endure his excited and passionate babbles about God knows what movie he’d just watched simply made him want to tear his own heart out, fueling his distress even more.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let go. Everything he needed was right here, lying with Dean. A fortress of comfort, warmth, and protection.

And once Dean woke up, face still heavy with sleep and concern glimmering inside his emerald eyes, he wrapped him up inside his arms and never let go. He calmed him down, talked him through, held him close, offered comfort and compassion even after Castiel had left him in the dark all day, even after he basically treated him like shit for no other apparent reason than being terrified.

Dean never let go. He was still here when he woke up, wrapping him up a blanket and petting his hair, and Castiel would be lying if he said he didn’t daydream about this becoming a regular kind of morning.

They actually talked, and in great length too. They cleared a bunch of things up, and although Castiel was still very obviously struggling, things felt a bit more definite, a lot less gloomy.

He took some time to call Sam after they had breakfast — Dean had brought a sample of pretty much everything that was available at the common room’s buffet for Cas to try, and although he didn’t show it, it made Cas tear up a little on the inside — explaining the process he was going through, the fact that he knew he would be fully human in a few days. Sam listened, as he usually does, and to Castiel’s relief, didn’t push it when Cas said he didn’t want to find a solution to prevent him from going human.

Because sure, it hurt, but there’s a sense of finality about going human after so long. Part of him wants it, too, because being an angel brought a lot of pain and misery, and he still feels like he doesn’t belong there anymore. But he does belong here on Earth, now.

"You’ve always watched over me before, let me watch over you now,” Dean had said, and that particular sentence was still ringing inside Castiel’s head, having sent him down a loop.

_Dean is not leaving. He’s not leaving. He’s not leaving. He’s not leaving._

“Cas? You ready?” Dean asks and Castiel comes back to the present time, realizing the hunter is staring right at him expectantly.

If he didn’t know better, Castiel would seriously wonder how Dean Winchester manages to look even more gorgeous every living day, but by now he’s figured out that’s a lost cause anyway.

Dean is sporting a dark green shirt, one that he’s never seen on him before, and the only thing that crosses Castiel’s mind is how it makes him want to pin him against a wall and kiss him with all the ferocity that’s left inside of him.

God, they haven’t kissed in 24 hours and he’s longing for it already. Is it what being human feels like?

Of all the time he felt things for Dean over the last 12 years — and there were a lot of times —, things really are much more intense when he feels like a human being. And he doesn’t really know if it’s a good or a bad thing at this point, but it’s right here in the open.

Dean motions closer, invading Castiel’s personal space as he smiles at him.

“You okay? You left me hanging there for a second, buddy.”

“Y-Yeah, you just… I’m ready, let’s go,” Castiel answers, finally finding the strength to tear his gaze away from the hunter.

“Okay. Cas? Hey, look at me,” Dean asks, raising his hand to cup Castiel’s cheek softly, the angel locking his eyes inside of his again, “if you feel like you’re gonna drown or whatever, I’ll be right here next to you. Alright?”

There’s a rush of warmth going directly through his heart as Dean extends his hand to him. Castiel takes it and quickly intertwine their fingers, holding on to the contact of Dean’s skin against his own like an anchor.

He’s got this. He’s got Dean. He doesn’t have to be alone in this anymore.

*******

This case is a fucking nightmare, and Dean’s getting pissed off by the minutes.

It seems like no one has seen anything, there’s basically no connection between the victims (other than the fact that they were all staying at the retreat), and the goddamn monster changed his M.O. right when Dean and Cas got here.

What kind of monster has that kind of audacity?

And now they’re back on that hellish couch in the hellish office for another hellish couple therapy session, and sure, okay, Dean knows they’re faking it, but after last night’s meltdown and their open-heart conversation this morning, he isn’t sure what state Castiel is in.

The angel is still holding his hand steadily, fingers wrapped up in each other. He’s sitting closer than the last time, and Dean knows that’s because it makes him feel safer. He catches Cas’s gaze for half a second before he turns his head back to Mrs. Pritchard, a smile ghosting over his lips as he watches his partner profile, the light of the sun making his features stand out.

God, he’s magnificent. I haven’t kissed him in more than 24 hours. How the hell did I make it through before?

_You’re a fucking lost cause, that is how, Winchester._

“You two seem to be doing a bit better. Did you talk things out, like I encouraged you to do?” Mrs. Pritchard asks, her voice suddenly jolting Dean away from his thought, tearing his eyes away from Cas to look at the therapist.

“Y—Yeah, actually, we did,” he answers, putting a smile on his face.

“Dean, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back on a subject we talked about a few nights ago when we met outside?”

Dean’s mind quickly race back to that night, his fight with Cas, how helpless and hopeless he felt. He nods at the therapist, his hand leaving Cas’s to rest on his thigh. The gesture is intimate, and Dean hopes Castiel gets the hint, understands that it means he’s here.

“You said to me that you believed your husband deserved better than what you had to offer,” Mrs. Pritchard says, and Dean can feel Cas shifting slightly already, “why do you think you’re not enough?”

When the angel covers his hand with his own, fingers intertwining again, Dean’s breath quickly catches inside his chest, his eyes finding their way back to Cas’s to see him staring at him. There’s a small, encouraging smile on his lips, one that he knows is meant only for him to see, and his hand lightly presses on his skin. So Dean starts talking.

“I never feel like I’m enough. Not just for Cas, but for anyone else, too.”

“Do you have an explanation for that?”

“Not really. My mom died when I was little. Dad went on a crusade for the next two decades and died leaving both Sam and I orphans, barely out of our 20s. Hell, Sam wasn’t even out of college yet. We never really had a childhood. I practically raised my brother, acted as a father for him when really, all I should have been focusing on back then was drawing dinosaurs and learning times tables like every kid my age. It wasn’t fair.”

He stops for a moment, catching his breath. He can feel the anger coming off of him, the thoughts of what they have been through sending him down a spiral.

He loved his dad, he still really does despite all the shit that happened. They had a chance at unpacking this a few years back and he’s very glad they did, but it still pains him to realize how John’s terrible parenting skills shaped both Sam and him into men riddled with daddy issues.

It wasn’t fair to dump everything on him, wasn’t fair to put him in a position where he’d have to protect his baby brother instead of John actually doing his job as a father. And then actually leaving them, making a deal out of it, when both he and Sam had so much to talk to, learn about, or generally just time to spend with their old man? Not to mention uncovering the mystery that Adam was, and realizing that John did have it in him to act like an actual father, just not towards his rightful sons.

Yeah, it leaves its traces. Not to mention all the other people they cared about that either left or died over the years. Bobby, Kevin, Charlie, Gabe, Rowena, Ketch, even Mom again… Sure, it’s the job, but if fucking hurts all the same.

“I guess I’m used to people leaving, and I tend to think they leave because I’m not good enough for them to stay. Everyone left at some point, even Sam. Even Cas.”

“But they came back, didn’t they?”

“That doesn’t mean they can’t leave again.”

“Castiel, how do you feel about this?”

“You mean, towards Dean’s abandonment issues or mine?”

“Well, both.”

“I think…” Castiel’s voice trails off for a second, “I think we’re both afraid of abandonment because we’ve been so used to losing the people we love and care about for decades. At some point we lost each other too, Sam included. It’s tough, coming back from that, having to suffer through constant losses without losing your heart in the process. I guess… For both of us, there’s a logical side of us that still thinks people will always up and leave. And that includes us both.”

Somehow it still hurts, despite Castiel being right next to him, his hand sitting on his, his fingers tightly locked inside of his. Thinking back on Cas’s deal with the Empty a year ago, how he had to find out and watch his best friend get dragged to a place he had no control over when he finally thought they were so close to winning it all. Screaming into a void for the next few weeks, thinking he would never see him again, how he never told him how much he meant to them, to him. He bashed his head on this, drank too much every single night in a desperate attempt at numbing the pain away (which didn’t work, because it never fucking does when it’s about Cas), maybe even sparing him from being haunted by every single one of his mistakes with Cas every godforsaken night.

Sometimes he still has nightmares over it, can still hear Castiel’s voice, and the words he used to say goodbye forever. It was like his very own worst nightmare coming alive, playing itself out right in front of his eyes.

In the end, yes, Castiel did return and they fought for him until he did, but it still is such a traumatic event that left some very big wounds inside Dean’s mind, ones that are nowhere to be healed just yet.

The rest of their therapy session goes on like this, both of them explaining how they manage through their abandonment issues — and holy shit, maybe Dean hadn’t been paying enough attention to the fact that Cas suffers from them **a lot, too**.

It’s only when they’re back inside their room later that night, going through the case once more after they’ve spent their afternoon interrogating everyone again that Dean finally finds the courage to speak about the thing that’s been tugging at his heart since their morning session.

“Hey, Cas… I think we need to talk, man.”

Castiel looks up from the pile of note he’s been reading, tilting his head as he squints his eyes to look at him, which makes Dean smile at the sight.

He’s in that pair of dark jeans that were once Dean’s, paired with yet another exceptional dark blue shirt that Sam had bought for him. He’s looking too good to be true. And if Dean was hopelessly pining over him for a decade already, the fact that Castiel is wearing his clothes on a regular basis now instead of his traditional outfit makes it even worse.

“What do you want to talk about, Dean?”

“This morning, during our therapy session… I realized we never really talked about what happened when… You know.”

He can’t seem to say it out loud, the words hanging too big on the tip of his tongue, holding out too much pain, still.

“My deal with the Empty. Is that what this is about?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve basically been silent all day. You’re usually pretty talkative and I thrive on it, I do, so I kind of wondered when you’d finally explain what was going on.”

Those big blue eyes are staring at him now, and all Dean sees his compassion inside. He closes the book he’s been trying to read for 10 minutes and proceed to move closer to Cas, sitting crossed-legs on their bed. Castiel watches him carefully as he starts talking again.

“I think on some level, I still… I’m still mad you didn’t tell us about the deal you’d made, and it still hurts to realize you didn’t trust us enough to warn us.”

That’s because you don’t matter to him, Dean. He’d done it for Jack, and you didn’t matter on that agenda.

He sees the way Cas opens his mouth to interrupt, so he makes a sign for him to let him finish before he does.

Dean hates the way his voice break as he picks up again, not bothering to shut the voice down again but not paying attention to it either because he’s done giving it the best of him.

“We had to watch you get dragged to a place we didn’t even know how to access, and we didn’t know why, and we didn’t know if you could come back from it. I had to watch you die and all I could think about was “ _Why is he so insistent on leaving us behind? Don’t we matter enough for him to stay?_ ”. It hurt, Cas. It hurt for weeks, and sometimes it still hurts. And I still don’t get it.”

There’s a single tear rolling down his cheek and he doesn’t find it in him to wipe it up right now. It still baffles him, how intense the pain is after more than a year holding this back, how it’s still tearing his heart into bits and pieces despite having Castiel back by their side for months.

So it’s Castiel who wipes the tear away with his thumb, Dean closing his eyes on impact. It’s too tender for how raw his heart feels right now, and he can’t help but smile hopelessly as he opens his eyes again, Cas’s hands cupping his cheek, his baby blues locked on his face.

“I’m deeply sorry, Dean. You should have come forward with this before.”

“For what? We’re always on cases, we never have time.”

“So why did you decide to talk about it now?”

“Because it’s just you and me here, and it still hurts too much.”

There’s a sad smile painted on Castiel’s face as he retrieves his hand, and Dean can already feel the loss, his cheek tingling where Cas’s fingertips were pressing half a second before.

“I don’t know if you remember, but I was in a pretty bad place back then. I made the deal for Jack, and I’m pretty sure either of you would’ve done the same.”

Dean knows he’s right, he would’ve done the same in heartbeat, no questions asked, and he is 100% sure that’s also Sam’s case.

“I know it doesn’t excuse anything, but I really thought I was doing the right thing. And I asked Jack not to tell anything to you guys because I knew you would focus on trying to find a way to get me out of the deal when really, all that mattered was getting to Chuck and ending him once and for all. And it’s also true that I thought I deserved it, too.”

Dean raises his brows at that, watching as Castiel explains himself, his eyes now fixed on the outside, and the city of Nashville slowly plunging into darkness in the background.

“What do you mean? You thought you didn’t deserve to live?”

“No, I thought… I thought if this was the way I had to go, I was okay with it. Besides, the Empty told me it would only come when I’d let myself be happy, and I knew for sure that I had absolutely no reason to ever become the happiest little angel on the face of the Earth, let alone letting **myself** be happy.”

“That’s… Kind of terrible, Cas. Why wouldn’t you let yourself be happy?”

“What would you have wanted me to be happy about? My whole existence got shaken up when we found out that Chuck actually played all of us, Dean. Not just the two of you, but for me too. I’m — **was** an angel of the Lord. I was raised on the idea that God was right, God was magnificent, everything God had said and created were to be protected, cherished, shared with humanity. My world got turned upside down and my whole existence didn’t make any sense anymore. Everything I fought for, every single idea carved into my head, every thought… Everything was false, corrupted. And how do you build yourself up again when you’re no one?”

His words hang in the air between them, untouched. Dean watches as Castiel picks up the trail back up.

"So yeah, when I made that deal I figured I got a good one because they were no reason for me to be happy anyway.”

“Weren’t you happy with us?”

It slipped from his mouth in an instant, as if the little guy managing the traffic inside his head had said “nope, imma let this one go out and to hell with it!” Castiel’s face softens up as he turns his eyes back on Dean.

“You were the only happy part about my life, back then, the three of you. You have to know that. But it doesn’t mean I was happy, no. Plus, if you remember correctly, you and I weren’t on our best terms, too.”

Dean’s stomach shifts at the thought. Castiel leaving the bunker after yet another fight, Dean’s words louder than stone and sharper than knives,not finding the force or the courage to ask him not to leave, to run after him, and watching as Cas tells him he is moving on, leaving without looking back… Sometimes he can still hear the loud thump of the bunker’s door closing after him, how it hurt to find himself alone in the library, the silence too loud and heavy on his heart. In the end, things did get resolved when they went to Purgatory and Dean thought he had lost him again… Only for Cas to leave them again a few months after, because of that stupid deal.

“What can I say to make it okay, Dean?”

“I don’t know if you can.”

“Let me at least try.”

His eyes are earnest, a glimmer of devotion shining inside the ocean blue. For the hundredth time already, Dean thinks he looks beautiful.

“Just don’t leave anymore. I don’t want you to leave. And neither does Sam, or Jack.”

“I can do that.”

“Can you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because Cas, sometimes people don’t stay just because you ask them. Sometimes no amount of pleading can stop them from leaving.”

“I promise you I won’t leave, Dean.”

It feels permanent. Solid, even. It kind of warms Dean up from the inside.

“And if we ever fight and you decide you need space, or air, or whatever… Just say so. Don’t just up and leave, and leave us hanging, because it’s the worst. I hate it, man.”

“Okay. I can promise that, too."

They stare at each other for a second, and then Dean’s phone is ringing, breaking the moment. Dean brings his hand to rest on Cas’s thigh as he reaches for his phone. The screen is flashing a dumb photo he took of his brother a few years back and put as Sammy’s contact photo.

“About damn time you decided to call, bitch.”

“Alright, don’t be a jerk and start talking.”

“Cas is there, I’m gonna put you on speaker.”

*******

They’ve been through the entire case for almost an hour when Sam asks Dean if they can talk privately. Which Dean wouldn’t really find weird under normal circumstances, but he does because of the way Sam’s voice slightly shift. Cas immediately gets up and bids goodbye to Sam, adding an “I’m gonna go take a shower” before taking off to the bathroom. Dean gets off speaker mode, bringing his phone back to his ear as he watches Castiel gather his stuff before closing the bathroom door.

“Okay, we’re alone, what’s this about?”

“I know you’re not going to like this, but we need to talk about you and Cas.”

Oh, _hell no_ , not this again.

“What is there to talk about?” he asks, visibly annoyed, and he knows Sam is probably showing off bitch face number I’m extremely done with your bullshit and I won’t let you get away with it.

“How long are you gonna let this unspoken gigantic thing grow between the two of you?”

Dean sighs. It’s not like he didn’t see this conversation coming. Sam has addressed his relationship with Cas both times they texted over the entire week. It’s just that he doesn’t know if he really has it in him to keep his act together.

“What if he doesn’t want that, Sammy?” he asks, voice low and stomach thumping.

Sam laughs at the other end of the phone, “Dude. Are we talking about the same Castiel we’ve known for years? The one who looks at you like he sees right through your soul 24/7, who runs to you when you call, who suffers through every single movie and Led Zeppelin talks just because he wants to spend time with you? You’re not sure _**this Cas**_ wants whatever there is between the two of you? Are you out of your mind?”

“No, I’m not. I’m simply saying… Man, he’s going through so much right now, I’m just trying to be a good friend. I don’t want to… He’s going human, which means he’s experiencing emotions and feelings more deeply than he ever has. I don’t want to take advantage, Sam.”

“Dean…” his little brother exhales loudly, before he picks up again, “Cas literally _**worships**_ the grounds you walk on. And I’m not saying this to make you feel special or whatever, I’m just saying things the way they are. I cannot believe it’s taken us 12 years to finally talk about this, and I can’t believe you still haven’t taken your head out of your ass.”

“Hey! It’s not just me, though.”

“No, it’s not just you, but Cas has shown you multiple times that he loves you.”

“Yeah, sure, _**he left, multiple times**_. Which I'm very grateful for,” Dean says sarcastically.

“You absolute dickhead, he told you he loved you. I was in the room, and you didn’t even have the guts to look at him in the eyes.”

“He told us all he loved us. He wasn’t specifically aiming it at me! And he was dying.”

“Yes, he did. He only added that part about loving us all when you wouldn’t even dare to cross his eyes. For fuck’s sake Dean, do you even hear yourself?”

“Yeah, I do. I think if he really wanted us to be something he would’ve done something.”

“Well, do _**you**_ want you guys to be something?”

There’s a beat in the room as Dean thinks for half a second before the little guy inside his head decides to let another dramatic sentence out without supervision.

“I mean, I think I wouldn’t mind if we kept on kissing once this case is over.”

“Wait… You guys have been kissing? For the case?”

Dean doesn’t remember the last time he’s heard Sam laugh that hard, and he has to cover his phone’s speaker because that gigantic moron is so loud he’s afraid Cas might hear it from the shower he’s currently drowning under.

“Okay, either you stop laughing like a maniac, or I’m going to hang up and never call your ass back.”

“Yeah, you would like that now, wouldn’t you?”

“You’re a goddamn menace, Samuel. Get to your point, please, before I hang up.”

“So, you guys have been kissing?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And what, Sammy?”

“Well, how does it feel?”

“We’re not school girls you idiot. It feels good. It feels right.”

“Okay. I’m gonna say this once, and then you’re gonna do whatever you want to do with it.”

“Sounds good.”

“I love you. Both of you. Please, _**please**_ , for the love of God, get your head out of your ass and go get your angel. I’m done suffering silently through your bullshit. It’s been a decade, I’ve had enough.”

“I don’t want to lose him.”

That’s when the mask falls. All the pretend, the playful banter with his brother doesn’t matter anymore when the final admission fall.

“Why would you lose him?” Sam asks, his voice lower, calmer, like he’s sensed the shift inside Dean’s mind despite being miles away from him, “he loves you.”

“You say that like you’re so sure, but he left so many times already. What if he doesn’t want this, and I lose him as a friend too?”

“Look, you know what? I know this is tough but you’re just gonna have to trust me on this, okay? Please?”

Dean sighs again, his head heavy.

“Okay.”

“Okay. Text me?”

“Sure. Tell Eileen I said hi. I hope you’re not feeding her Cobb salad every day or I will have to disown you.”

Sam laughs at the other end of the call before they hang up.

*******

It’s almost 1 am when they finally get to bed after once again diving back into the case over delicious Chinese food that Dean had ordered for Cas to try. After so much heavy conversation, Castiel feels exhausted as he finds his way toward Dean under the covers.

He sighs in content, finding “his” spot in the crook of Dean’s neck, his nose brushing the warm skin lightly. He breathes deeply, Dean’s scent falling over him like a calming balm.

“You’re okay?” Dean asks, his arms tightening around him.

“You smell really good,” Cas sighs, slowly breathing in, shifting even closer, his face almost entirely disappearing inside Dean’s shoulder

“Yeah? What do I smell like?” Dean asks, visibly amused.

The angel hesitates for a moment, thinking, and choosing his next word carefully.

“Mint, leather, whiskey”, he whispers. “ _Home_ ”, he adds.

One of his hands finds the shape of Dean’s mouth, his thumb brushing lightly over the tenderness of his lips. Dean softly kisses his fingertips in a gesture that’s so gentle that it makes Cas heart flutter.

Suddenly there are lips against his own, and they share a kiss, then another, and then another. Cas could easily sink in, his mouth hovering on the hunter’s, tongue occasionally brushing against one another.

It feels so good, after almost two days. It’s so tender and raw, and Cas can’t help but release a deep moan against Dean’s lips. It’s like he has found a purpose again as he clenches to Dean’s sides like he doesn’t want to ever let go.

“Dean,” he finally says as he puts a steady hand on the hunter’s firm chest, panting, “why are you kissing me? It’s just the two of us, you don’t have to pretend.”

He can almost feel Dean smile, as his lips are still pressed up against the corner of his mouth. He brings his free hand up to cup Dean’s face, his other hand moving to the back of his neck, carding through the hair at the base of his nape. His heart clenches when Dean’s eyes flutter shut and he leans into the touch. When they open again, he looks at Castiel as though no one else in the world exists.

“I’m not pretending,” he says with a grin, brushing a kiss on Castiel’s lips, “I’m done pretending.”

Castiel doesn’t think there’s anything better in the world than watching Dean Winchester’s green eyes darken like a forest in winter, pupils all blown up and radiating with want, his glorious dirty blonde hair tousled from all the carding of Castiel’s hand through. Dean’s lips are warm and inviting and so damn tender he practically melts against him.

When they finally break away from one another what feels like hours after it’s only because they’ve fallen asleep against each other, limbs all tangled up and mouths bruised.

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can reach me on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com) and [ask anything you want](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com/ask) (you can even send me prompts for me to write something about, it'll even get posted on [my new work here on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25389742?view_full_work=true)!) and get some sweet first look and sneak peeks at chapters before it drops on my [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/HitTheRoadJus) (I occasionally ramble about SPN, music, fictional characters, and soccer, because I'm that kind of lame).


	9. Faut Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is fairly certain there’s an ancient rule that has been discussed in the heavens which states something along the lines of _“The Winchesters can’t have nice things for more than 10 hours straight, and if they do there will be some cosmic consequences”._
> 
> Things start going to shit, and Dean's inabilities to use his words quickly escalates the situation.
> 
> _This chapter is titled after the song "Fault Line" by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OQDLf8xI7BE)]_
> 
> Friendly reminder that English is **not** my native language, so there's likely going to be mistakes! Please bear with my french ass :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My fellow subscribers and readers — **welcome back to another update!**
> 
> Thanks to everyone who reached out (mainly on Tumblr), wondering if I was doing okay since I took a two weeks break from the story. I'm not gonna comment in great length on it here, but you can read what's been going on [here](https://chaoticdean.tumblr.com/post/625102043373338624/hi-im-one-of-the-person-following-darkest-roads) if you're inclined.
> 
> Basically, I'm probably not gonna be as steady as I used to be before when it comes to updating (i.e: posting every Monday), but I'm still planning on getting my shit together at least every two weeks to post the rest of this little story!
> 
> Again, thanks to the (current) 82 subscribers on this story, thanks to those of you who take the time to comment on every single chapter (you have no idea what it's like for us writers to witness this kind of love), thank you to those who reach out to me on Tumblr regularly, thanks to the silent one who bookmarks and leave kudos, and to the rest of y'all who check regularly to see if I've updated this. It truly means the world to me (I know, I say this every time I post an update, but goddamit you have no idea how it actually fuels me to do better every time).
> 
> Anyway, I'll shut up now. Let's dive into it, shall we?

Dean is fairly certain there’s an ancient rule that has been discussed in the heavens which states something along the lines of “The Winchesters can’t have nice things for more than 10 hours straight, and if they do there will be some cosmic consequences”.

It all starts too good to be true, waking up all tangled up in Castiel’s personal space, briefly wondering if he is dreaming or if this is his actual real-life now as he shifts closer to Cas, head buried in his neck, and then kissing the former angel to make sure they aren’t gonna be tiptoeing around each other in another dance of self-doubt and denial — because that’s over, he doesn’t give a _shit_ what it takes, and kissing Cas feels like the sun on his face.

It’s when they finally head toward the common room together, their fingers tightly interlocked, that things start going to shit.

First, the sight of several police officers and people clumped together in several little groups seems to indicate that the Algea struck again.

Both of them share a puzzled look and quickly make their way toward them before a very panicked Steve jumps them.

“Dean! You said you work for the FBI, right?”

“Lower your voice, Steve, we’re still undercover,” Dean answers with his voice down, his hand still in Cas’s which attracts Steve’s puzzled look, “Yes, we are. What’s going on?”

“Wait, are you two even a couple?”

Dean takes a quick look with Cas, who dives in before Dean can even open his mouth.

“Yes, we are. Agents and husbands, actually. We don’t usually work together, but this case seemed like a good idea at the time. So, what’s all this about?”

Agents and Husbands. Dean can’t deny there’s a nice ring to it.

“Well, it killed again, Agents.”

“It?”

“They’re saying it might be animal attacks now. Can you believe it? Like, okay, what animal could possibly do that anyway?”

“Okay, Steve? Concentrate. Who did it get to this time?”

“Marnie and Josh… Apparently it got to them while they were… Well…”

“What?”

“They were… screwing each other.”

“You’re allowed to use the expression ‘having sex”, you know, it’s still tolerated along certain circles,” Dean rolls his eyes.

Great. Fucking great. So not only did they missed an opportunity to catch this son of bitch, it managed to kill people again while they were too busy wrapped up in each other.

Not that Dean regrets any of it, but they should have been taking care of the case first, instead of focusing on themselves.

He’s so lost in thoughts that he barely registers how Castiel pulls at his hand until his other hand is resting on his shoulder and Cas is facing him.

“What is up with you?” he asks, making sure to keep his voice low even if they’re alone in a corner of the room, “You’ve got this look.”

“What look? I don’t have any look,” Dean complains, finally let go of Castiel’s hand to scratch his neck.

“Yes, you do. There’s the one you have when you see Sam forgot to buy some pie, or the one you get when you’re disappointed with someone, or the one you get…”

“Okay, okay, I see your point,” Dean interrupts, frustrated.

“Well, now you’ve got your ‘I messed up and everything is my fault’ look, and I don’t like it.”

“Cas, we were fooling around like high school kids while the monster we’re supposed to catch was happily murdering another couple.”

Castiel’s warm blue eyes turn cobalt blue, and Dean knows he’s made a mistake as soon as he notices the frown on the angel’s face, how the energy between them suddenly shifted from Hawaii warm to Antarctica cold.

“Oh, so that’s what you call last night now? ‘Fooling around like high school kids’?”

Castiel’s voice is so cold and brittle it’s practically a miracle if Dean doesn’t shiver on impact.

_Did you really think this through, Winchester? It seems like I was right anyway, all you do is hurting every single person you love. Castiel deserves better than you, stupid emotionally constipated piece of shit._

Dean doesn’t find the strength to shut the voice up, as he looks at Castiel, trying to find a way to wipe this hurt look from his face.

Maybe the voice is right, maybe he doesn’t deserve any single drop of Castiel’s attention, maybe he’ll only end up hurting him, maybe he’s just not capable of any love.

But for now, he just wants to see the look on Castiel’s face gone.

“Cas, no, I don’t —“

“You know what? Whatever. We have a monster to catch. We’ll focus back on being high school kids when we get the time. Or maybe never.”

“Cas…”

But the angel already moves away, joining another group of people as Dean is still trying to form coherent thoughts.

So Dean keeps going, deciding that at least for now, maybe the prospect of finally catching this son of a bitch weighs heavier in the balance than trying to clear things up with Cas.

And that’s his second mistake of the day.

*******

“Maybe we should have sex.”

“W—What?!”

Castiel has barely said any words since they got back to their room to eat lunch. They’ve shared what they found out about the latest murder (not much, it appears), and Cas has apparently become a master at avoiding both Dean’s gaze and any talks outside of the case — which Dean find completely and utterly infuriating, by the way.

Dean is finishing up his chicken noodles while browsing yet another website about ancient lore, while Cas is propped against the headboard of their bed and re-reading through their notes, a half-eaten sandwich in one of his hand.

“I said, maybe we should have sex since our last 4 victims have been killed while doing it. It seems like a sane idea.”

“So you’re saying we should have sex in order to get a supernatural psychopath to come and kill us? Yes, that seems like a wonderful idea Cas, why don’t you lose the shirt and we’ll get going,” Dean taunts with a roll of his eyes.

With retrospect, he’d say his tone shouldn’t have been this harsh and mocking, but for now, he’s just pissed off because Cas keeps avoiding him, and it’s fucking nerve-wracking.

“I thought the whole point of us ‘fooling around like school girls’ would be to get in bed together, but apparently you find this idea disgusting as well,” Castiel strikes with venom in his voice, looking at Dean from above the notebook he’s reading from.

Dean could almost laugh at the use of Cas’s infamous air quote again if he wasn’t this mortified.He can’t help but think back to this morning, how good and pure and happy it felt.

_Yeah, well, you’re a Winchester. It’s not like you can really have nice things, can you? This morning was just a fleeting moment, I doubt Castiel is ever gonna want to sleep next to you again after today._

“Cas… Just let it go, okay? We’re not having sex.”

From the moment the words roll out of his tongue, Dean smacks himself internally at how final it sounds, and it’s not what he meant.

Of course, he wants him. Goddammit, he wants to have sex with Cas so badly he’s already burning up just thinking what his skin would feel like underneath his fingertips. It’s been 12 long-ass years and he’s had so much time to fantasize, how could Cas not get it?

He just doesn’t want their first time to be ruled by some chaotic supernatural being.

Cas doesn’t say anything and when Dean tries to make eye contact with him, the Angel seems to be too absorbed in Dean’s notes on the case.

“Cas, that’s not…” Dean sighs.

“What you meant, yes, that seems to be the basics around you today. That’s fine. Whatever. Let’s just get this over with,” Cas answers, voice ice cold and eyes still firmly on the notebook in front of him.

At that point, Dean is almost convinced the term poker-face has been created to put a name on Castiel’s emotionless face. He sighs again, knowing nothing he’ll try to say is going to make things better and goes back to his research while glancing at Cas from time to time.

“You know, maybe things would be different if you’d just talk,” Cas snaps at him again after a while, still avoiding eye contacts by pretending he’s reading what’s in front of him — but Dean knows he hasn’t flipped the page for 10 minutes, which means he’s been stewing in his own juice all that time.

“Are you even going to listen if I try to talk?”

“Maybe not, but you could at least have the decency to try.”

“We don’t have time for this right now, Cas. Please, just let it go.”

“Sure. Whatever you say, Dean.”

Dean’s heart drops to his knees when he hears Castiel’s voice. He knows he’s hurting him, and it physically pains him.

But they have a monster to catch, and they’ve been prioritizing themselves over it for too long to keep it going once more.

Castiel’s states of mind are gonna have to wait.

*******

****

*******

The door creaks when it opens, and Dean flips onto his back to take a peak, dazed by the weight of sleep still creeping through his eyes.

He must have fallen asleep half an hour ago, annoyed at both Castiel’s dismissal and his own mistakes. He had spent the most part of the last 3 hours searching for Cas all around the facility until he bumped into Mrs. Pritchard, who then proceeded to explain that Castiel had left a while ago to “get some air” (she air-quoted him, and Dean’s heart ached at the sight).

He’d returned to their room carrying the guilt over his shoulder. He had hurt Cas, and he knew very well that he was the one to blame but did nothing to prevent it, even managing to hurt him even more by dismissing the problem over and over all day long.

It’s not a secret that Dean Winchester isn’t particularly good with words. He often says stuff the wrong way, usually doesn’t want to address said wrong way until it bursts into his face and he has to acknowledge that if he had handled it differently, things wouldn’t have gotten this bad.

The truth is, most of the time Dean doesn’t want to address shit because he acts like nothing happened, as if it could protect him from dealing with his feelings. And why would you talk about something that didn’t happen?

It would be okay if it was a one-time thing, or even a not too regular occurrence, but Dean has been dealing with this for the most part of his 41 years of life. It started with John, continued with Sam, and is still causing grief with Castiel — and not just now that they’ve finally “gotten their heads out of their asses” as Sam had carefully worded, but during the 12 years in between.

Castiel is barely visible in the darkness of the room but Dean knows it’s him just by watching him move, hardly a shadow as he removes his boots and clothes and drops to the bed, getting under the covers only wearing his boxer briefs and deliberately turning his back to Dean.

“Cas?” Dean finally says, only a whisper in the quietness of the room, “Where have you been? Are you okay?”

Dean _knows_ he’s not. He can hear it in the way the former angel’s breathing is shaky, or the way his shoulder blades seems to be trembling.

_It’s all your fault, Winchester. Barely 24 hours in and you’ve managed to break him already._

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Castiel finally says, his voice rough and shaky.

“Just tell me if you’re okay.”

“I’m really not.”

Dean carefully moves closer, already feeling the heat radiating from Castiel’s bare skin laid out in front of him. He gently moves his hand to Cas’s shoulder, moving his thumb in circle motions.

“Leave me alone.”

But his voice isn’t cold and brittle like it was this morning. It’s barely a whisper, and Dean knows he’s earned at least this rejection for the way he handled the issue all day. He knows it’s only Castiel’s way of hurting him just as much as he hurt him. He knows it’s almost a dare. _I dare you to come closer_.

So he does come closer, letting his arms wrap around Cas’s waist, pressing his face to rest his cheek against the space between Castiel’s shoulder blades. He even dares to ghost his lips over the skin on his shoulder, and delights in the full body shudder it produces.

And it’s then that Castiel breaks down, his hands locking on Dean’s strong arms around him, the hunter bracing for impact.

“I feel like the world is spinning and I’m going to collapse,” the former angel says, his voice too weak to be normal.

“It’s okay. You’re having another panic attack. I’m right here.”

It’s really not okay, he thinks. It’s my fault, I pushed him away, I voluntarily hurt him. I know I didn’t want to, but ultimately that’s what I did. Only because I didn’t want to talk, I didn’t want to set things right.

Only because you’re a constipated obnoxious piece of shit, Winchester.

There’s a pool inside his stomach, a dark little patch of bitterness rising at the back of his throat, and “Castiel deserves better than a fucked up hunter who can’t seem to do anything but hurt the ones he loves” carved in gold letter on the inner side of his forehead.

“You’re gonna end up leaving,” Cas says after a while, both his hands tugging at Dean’s, bringing them closer to his chest.

“No, I’m not.”

_I’m not. I’m never leaving. How could I? **My happiness lives and dies with you** , you idiot._

“This is all just a game for you, isn’t it?”

It has never been a game. Or one he was sure he’ll end up losing.

“No, it’s not, Cas. Come here, look at me.”

“We’re just fooling around like high school kids, that’s what you said.”

“I didn’t mean it, babe. I was only mad at myself. Sweetheart, look at me.”

Castiel doesn’t move, a silent sob rising from the back of his throat as the trembling seems to grow. Dean tightens his grip, arms curled around his waist, tugging him closer next to him. He let his mouth kiss along the edge of the angel’s neck, hoping it carries along with the words he’s not able to say just yet.

“Look at me,” he says gently.

Wild blue eyes finally meet steady green after a long while, as Castiel turns his head just enough to lock eyes with him, and the world stands still, the spinning seems to stop. It’s just him and Dean.

There are tears running down his cheeks and Dean’s heart breaks again as he kisses it away.

_I did this. I did this to him._

“Good. There you are.” 

Dean doesn’t let him go. The tremor finally ends, leaving Castiel to rest. It takes a while, and Dean doesn’t let go along the way.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says after a while, breathing hot against the shell of Castiel’s ear.

“You don’t want me.”

It’s not a question, barely an affirmation. It’s almost a sob, and Dean’s heart breaks instantly. He raises his face to drop a kiss right where Castiel’s shoulder meets his neck, where it’s warm and smells like home. He tightens his grip as he moves his lips to the angel’s neck, peppering kisses until he meets the nape.

“I do. Fuck, Cas, you don’t even know how bad I want you. It’s been years.”

He drops another kiss on his shoulder, let both his hand wander on Castiel’s skin. He can feel the trembles slowly fading away under his fingertips as he moves his lips along the edges of his collarbone until he meets his ear.

“You have no idea how hard it is to keep control. How heavy it got sometimes, to the point I had to leave the room to catch my breath, because of how deep I felt, how deep it ached. How complicated it’s been all those years, trying to get a hold on my fantasies, trying to make sure I didn’t lose it. I want you, I’ve always wanted you,” he whispers in the shell of Cas’s ear, kissing that soft spot behind the earlobe, “I’m sorry I’m such a jackass, and I’m sorry my words get twisted sometimes. I’m an asshole who can’t seem to use his words properly. I’m an idiot. I never meant to hurt you. Please forgive me.”

Castiel knows Dean isn’t the kind of man who apologizes at great length, which means he’s serious about this.

He stands still for a while, letting Dean mapping the edge of his shoulder blades with his lips. The silence doesn’t seem to be so thick anymore, and the former angel even releases a few sighs of delights.

“Then why don’t you want me now?” he finally asks, voice barely a whisper.

“I know you’re going to call me a sap for this, but I’m not sure I want our first time in bed to be ruled by some kind of chaotic supernatural psychopath,” he explains, one of his hand following along the edge of the angel’s cheekbone, “It doesn’t mean that I don’t want you, okay? I do want you. God, I’ve wanted you forever, Cas.”

Dean Winchester is not about to let a psychotic supernatural bastard chose when he takes the love of his life to cloud nine for the first time.

“Do you really mean it?”

“Yes, I do. C’mere.”

He motions for Castiel to turn around and immediately clamps his fingers into tender flesh, tugging him closer against his chest. Cas buries his head back into the crook of Dean’s neck, where he’s slept every single night since they’ve arrived. His mess of dark hair tickles under Dean’s chin, and he smells like rain, which Dean finds out by burying his nose into his hair, laying soft kisses on the top of his head.

“No one’s ever touched you like I’m going to,” he says as he raises Castiel’s face with a finger tucked under his chin, and delights in the full body shudder his words produce, “When the time is right, I’m going to lay you down and spend hours over you. I’m going to touch every single part of you, cherish every inch of your skin until all you can feel is me. Do you get it? I’ve wanted you for years and I plan on making an event out of it, and no supernatural bastard is going to take that away from me.”

Castiel holds his gaze then as they stare at each other for a few seconds before Dean leans in and fits his mouth over the shape of Cas’s lips, finally sharing the kiss he’s been dreaming of for hours.

It feels like the whole world exhales with him, as he adds a cunning sweep of his tongue across the seam of Castiel’s lips. Cas releases a soft moan then, and Dean can’t help but clutching him closer.

He tries, he really tries not to lose himself in the sensation, not to overwhelm Cas, but he can’t help it. He pushes forward then, sucking on his tongue and sliding his hands up so that he can thread them through Castiel’s hair, angling him just right to delve deep into his mouth.

Cas pulls back just far enough to search Dean’s eyes, locking eyes with him in an instant, his ocean blues glimmering with something dark and unreachable.

“Dean,” he murmurs then, his lips brushing against the hunter’s mouth, and it’s like the world is exploding inside Dean’s ribcage all over again.

Fuck, his voice feels like a glass of good bourbon descended on Dean’s gut, a warm feeling replacing the sour pool at the bottom of his stomach.

_Is that what love feels like?_

“I want you, too,” Cas whispers then after a while, after the kisses have quiet down and they’re resting against each other in a silent embrace, “I want you to be mine.”

He whispers the last with such fierceness that Dean can’t help the shiver going down his spine, the sensation of deep possessiveness it releases as he clutches him closer, crushing their mouths together once more.

“I’ve always been yours. I’ll be yours forever if you’ll have me,” Dean murmurs after a while, once Castiel’s breathing turns steady, once he can feel his head resting heavily against him, “Let me be yours forever.”

He allows himself to believe then, in the obscurity of the room, lulled to sleep by the sound of Cas’s even breathing against his throat, that maybe they can get through this as long as they hold on to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com), and [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/HitTheRoadJus). 
> 
> Don't forget to check my latest works, [A Tumblr Prompt Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25389742?view_full_work=true) and [Going to California](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25549762) while you wait for me to update this story! 
> 
> You can also [send me a prompt](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com/ask) for me to write a quick one-shot :)


	10. You will always burn as bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean sheds light on some of the things that happened while Cas was gone to the Empty, uncovering a new theory regarding the case that got them running around for several days.
> 
> And then... all hell breaks loose.
> 
> _**This chapter is titled after lyrics the song "The Light Behind Your Eyes" by My Chemical Romance [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZSg-eHng52E)]** _
> 
> Friendly reminder that English is **not** my native language, so there's likely going to be mistakes! Please bear with my french ass :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **My fellow subscribers and readers** — I'm very pleased to finally welcome you back to the 10th chapter of this little story.
> 
> Remember last time when I promised I'd get my shit together at least every two weeks to post the rest of this story? Yeah, I lied. But for a good cause, because this is quite frankly the longest shit I've ever written!
> 
> The rating goes from Teen and Up Audiences to Explicit starting with this chapter — I won't say what this means just yet, but I think you've got a pretty good idea anyway. 👀
> 
> There's another chapter coming after this one, and chapter 12 will be the epilogue of this whole story, which means we're getting closer to the end. Again, I want to thank each and every one of you all: those who subscribed, left comments and kudos, came to check in on me to see how I was doing, or the silent one who just connects on AO3 to see if I've updated — we exist because of y'all.
> 
> I cannot wait to see the reactions after this! Have a good read, and see you in the comments section!
> 
> _***exits AO3 before y'all throw stuff at my head*** _

The gloomy light of the room casts Dean’s silhouette as the whip hits his skin with full force, blood flowing and following along the edges of his back. There’s a small red pool growing steadily under him, leaking slowly as Dean raises his head back up to look at the demon in front of him, not bothering to take the pain rushing through his senses into account.

“I’ll ask one more time,” Marchosias asks, “where is the angel?”

He feels the pain this time, without even waiting for the whip to marble his skin again. It starts from his guts, rises in his stomach, goes all the way along his throat, and then Dean is laughing like a maniac.

He left. He’s dead. He’s never coming back. Kill me if you will, I don’t even give a fuck anymore.

He can feel how the atmosphere shifts, watching as Marchosias comes closer, lowering himself to look straight inside his eyes as he plasters an exasperated look on his face. The demon seems puzzled as Dean still chuckles, dropping his chin back on his chest.

Everything hurts, from his back to both his arms and hands, tied up in chains hanging from the ceiling, but he doesn’t care. The only pain he can feel is the one inside, the one that rises each time he thinks of the angel.

It’s a bit stupid, really, how they got him. If Dean is being honest, he would admit it was incredibly moronic of him to decide to take on this hunt alone, especially considering the state of mind he was in.

Sam had prepped his stuff, ready to tag along like he always did for the past two decades but Dean pushed him away, arguing that Sam should take some time away from all of this and maybe even think about settling down with Eileen now that no other apocalypse was on sight and Chuck was finally taken off the map. Nothing was looming over them, no seals being broken, no Lucifer or Michael running around to convince either of them to surrender. For the first time in years, things actually looked sunny on the horizon.

At least for one of us, is what Dean didn’t say out loud. Go and be happy Sammy, while I try and destruct myself on impact. Maybe I’ll set myself on fire and see if it hurts less than it already does.

The younger brother had looked at him sporting bitchface number 54 _(I can see very clearly through your bullshit but I know you’re suffering through it so I’m gonna keep my mouth shut for now_ ), made him promise to call if he needed anything and watched as Dean dropped his bag in the trunk and left the bunker, Baby’s engine roaring for a few minutes before it faded away in the dark.

Dean knew it was probably a bad idea to take care of this alone, but since Cas had died it felt like nothing mattered anymore, and all the drunken and sleepless nights were just a way for him to stop his brain from thinking.

He just wanted to be left alone.

Which is why he wasn’t really prepared for a bunch of demons to jump him right when he entered the motel room he had just booked, too busy making sure he had a bottle stashed inside his duffle instead of being on his guard like he used to be.

_Stupid._

“Something you find funny, Winchester?”

Dean smirks at him, gathering the blood inside his mouth to spit on Marchosias’ face, “You’ll never get to him.”

_He left us. He’s dead. We never mattered enough for him to stay. He made a deal and now he’s gone, and he’s never coming back. Do you get that?_

Marchosias raises his head up again, sending a look to the demon holding the whip behind Dean, and then grabs the hunter’s chin forcing him to look at his black eyes.

“Then I’ll make you suffer until you’re just a pool of blood and you beg for me to end you,” he hisses with venom in his voice.

Dean laughs again, just because the prospect of dying bloody and painfully doesn’t even remotely scare him anymore.

“I don’t do begging. But you can press 1 for spitting, 2 for singing, 3 for squeaking and maybe even 4 for cuddling, if you’re lucky,” Dean smirks again.

The whip clashes on his skin here and then, and Dean lets the pain radiate through his whole body as he lets go of everything else. If anything, the pain almost brings clarity through his mind, the sharp ache spreading faster than alcohol would through his veins.

The last image flashing through his head before he passes out is a dark-haired man roaring with laughter as they share a drink in the bunker’s kitchen, his raspy and hoarse voice sending shivers down Dean’s spine.

_Please, come back. I can’t function without you. Please, come back._

He awakes then, sweaty and out of breath, in the darkness of a bedroom in Nashville, Tennessee. He only falls back to sleep a while after, once he’s managed to lower his heart rate enough to feel like he’s alive again.

The fact that Castiel is entirely curled around him, his face nudged in the back of the hunter’s neck and his arms wrapped around his waist might have helped along the way.

Sometimes memories are the worst form of torture.

*******

The sharp sound of a phone ringtone rips through Dean’s comfortable sleep, the light of the room assaulting his eyes as soon as they open.

“Cas. Babe. Cas. For fuck’s sake, turn it off.”

Dean reaches blindly behind him and slaps his hand clumsily against Cas’s face to fully wake him.

“I’ll throw it at the wall, I swear I will.”

Castiel grumbles something incoherent, his face entirely wedged against the hunter’s neck, that Dean understands as “ _I will fucking smite you Winchester_ ” before he raises a hand and blindly looks for his phone.

“What?” he says as he finally answers, voice rough and still fully asleep, “Hey Jack, what’s going on?”

Dean smiles at the sudden change of tone. Jack always brings out a different part of Cas, one that he didn’t know even existed before the Nephilim was born and crashed into their life, one he’s grown to deeply love.

The hunter listens to the angel bickering with Jack with half an ear, ready to fall back to sleep as soon as he’s done, but Cas doesn’t seem to share the same desire, seeing as he drops the phone next to Dean’s face once he’s done.

“It’s your damn phone, by the way,” he grunts as he nuzzles his face against Dean’s neck just like before, nipping at his shoulder, “next time you decide to wake me up like that, make sure you have an actual point.”

“‘m sorry,” Dean mumbles as he delights in the feeling of Cas’ lips on his bare skin, “What did he want?”

“To know when we’re coming back. He misses us.”

“‘miss him too.”

“Yeah. You have notifications. Cute lock screen, by the way.”

Dean can feel the smile on Castiel’s lips as he nuzzles against his jaw, kissing until he’s behind his ear. He grabs his phone and answers the few messages he has, checks the notifications, and puts it back on the bedside table after a while.

“Looks like I’m getting a sister-in-law after all,” Dean says with a huge smile on his face.

“Yes, Sam texted me. Asked me to be his best man in case you didn’t wake up. Oh, hi,” the former angel says as Dean rolls back against him.

“Hey,” Dean drops a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, relishing on the burning sensation of Cas’ stubble against his lips, “how are you feeling?”

The angel props himself up on one elbow, his other hand wandering on Dean’s shirt, quickly finding his way under the cotton and on his bare skin. He looks amazing as usual, dark hair disheveled, and blue eyes looking even sharper than usual. If Dean hadn’t woke him up himself, he would think Cas had been awake for hours.

“Not very angelic. I think we’re bordering the point where I just… Go fully human.”

“Okay, and how does that feel?”

“I don’t know. Weird, for the most part. I’m just glad you’re here with me.”

Dean smiles at that, studying Castiel’s face from up close to see if any traces from last night’s panic attack remains. Fortunately not.

“What about last night? Is your head okay? Mine usually hurts like a son of a bitch after panic attacks.”

“You have panic attacks?”

“Yeah. Or anxiety ones. I’ve had ‘em for years, actually.”

Which, Dean would argue that it’s stupid considering the amount of time the three of them saved the actual word, fought beings even more ancient than Earth itself but somehow he still gets thrown off by his own feelings.

“My head is okay, I think. I wanted to… to thank you.”

“For what?”

“I know you don’t like to use your words a whole lot. But you did, only to pull me back up.”

“I’m just… I’m sorry I hurt you in the first place.”

“It’s fine, Dean.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Dean — just because we finally “got our heads out of our asses” like Sam gently worded, doesn’t mean everything is going to be easy from now on. I’m still an angel going human. You’re still… remotely _**you**_.”

“What does that even me—“

“It means that just because we’re finally together doesn’t necessarily mean we suddenly changed everything that makes us, _**us**_ ,” Cas interrupts him, eyes locked inside his.

“Damn, you’re a deep son of a bitch this morning, aren’t you?”

Castiel laughs then, and Dean wishes he could bottle up this feeling, the way his heart grows ten sizes as Castiel’s raspy chuckle rumbles out of his chest, how it carries light and thunder inside Dean’s mind. He clutches harder at Cas’s side as they share a kiss, and bad morning breathes be damned, it lights Dean up like an actual firework.

He knows he’s right, of course. He’s not naive enough to think that just because they finally pulled themselves out of the hole they’ve been stuck in for the past 12 years, everything is going to be easy as pie. You can’t really erase a decade of pain, pinning, and misery with love alone, and yesterday is just the first reminder.

“I heard you earlier,” Cas says after a moment, his voice inexplicably soft as he rests his head on Dean’s chest, “you had a nightmare.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, eyes glued to the ceiling, one hand wandering through the mess that Castiel’s hair is. His nightmares are something he’s been navigating for years, and at this point, it’s almost like they’re a part of him. He doesn’t talk about it, ever. With anyone.

But this is Cas. And if they’re serious about going somewhere together, maybe he should. 

“Yeah,” he says after a little while, not moving, “Stuff that happened while you were gone. It was tough. I still dream about it sometimes. And I guess… I guess with what happened yesterday, maybe my brain got triggered.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you want to know?” Dean asks, finally lowering his gaze to look at the former angel.

Castiel’s eyes are filled with pure compassion as he tilts his head to lock with his, the deep blue irises glimmering with something Dean can’t even comprehend just yet.

“There was this case… I think it was about 4 weeks after you… after you were gone.”

“After I was dead,” Cas corrects softly.

“Y-yeah. There was this case in Montana, that was supposed to be a simple salt and burn. I told Sam I’d handle it, I told him he should take some time off to spend with Eileen and I went on my own.”

He stops, slightly ashamed to look back at the state he was in back then.

_Why? Why are you so afraid to tell him you were a wreck without him?_

“The thing is, Cas… I wasn’t doing well back then,” he starts, looking down at the angel still lying on his chest, watching Dean carefully as he unfolds the story, “I was drinking too much, not sleeping, I wasn’t focusing on the case.”

“You lost faith.”

The angel aimed right, as usual. Going human or not, Castiel’s ability to have anything but a filter seems to linger. Dean smiled at the ceiling, tightening his grip around Castiel.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Why? You know alcohol and insomnia aren’t great dealing mechanisms.”

Dean laughs at that, because really? Out of all the things to say, _**this**_ is what Cas goes with? 

“Yeah, well. It’s not like I’m a poster boy for healthy coping mechanisms.”

“That is true,” and Dean laughs again, because no-filter-Cas sometimes is a pain in the ass but in that case, he’s just going straight to the damn point, “but why did you lose faith, Dean?”

“Because you were gone.”

_Because you were gone and it felt like losing a part of me, it felt like the pain was so intense I couldn’t feel a damn thing apart from your absence._

“Because you were gone, and I was sure you weren’t coming back, and I was pissed and in pain. And I wanted it to stop.”

His voice breaks and he hates the way it still hurts as he closes his eyes on impact, feeling the burn. Cas moves against him, tucking his head against Dean’s chin, the hunter’s heart beating right beneath his cheek.

“God, I just wanted it to stop, Cas.”

“What happened then?”

“I fucked up. I got taken like a goddamn teenage hunter, got tortured by a demon that was looking for you.”

“What demon?”

“Blonde, with a crooked smile? Kind of dick, with a side of funny and torture-y. English, I figured from the accent, or maybe Scottish because I remember thinking Rowena sometimes sounded like th—“

“Dean,” Cas interrupts, eyes wild, “name?”

“Mar-something. Markuzio? Markosis?”

“Marchosias?” Cas asks, interrupting Dean’s train of thoughts again.

“Yeah! That’s him, Marchosias.”

Cas suddenly jolts upright, and as much as Dean mourns the loss of his warmth against him, it feels like a bucket of ice has been dumped on them both as he watches the angel’s face going blank.

“What? What is it?”

“Did you kill him?”

“No. He tortured me to try and get information on you, no matter how many times I told him you were gone he’d just keep going. Sam and Eileen came in after a while, rescued me like a stray dog, but he blasted away before they could make a move,” Dean sits up, watching Cas crumble, “Should I be worried? Is he an ex-flame or something?” Dean tries to ease him up with a joke, but it does absolutely nothing.

“Marchosias isn’t just a regular demon. Oh, that makes so much sense now.”

“What does?”

Cas seems to be spiraling again, so Dean reaches out, using his fingers to turn Castiel’s chin toward him.

“Angel. Breathe in, breathe out. It’s fine. Tell me what’s going on, we can fix it.”

“Dean, it’s him. I knew there was a variable we were not considering! They’re working together!”

“What, Marchosias and the Algea?”

“Yes. That’s why we’ve never been able to catch it.”

“Okay, you need to breathe and explain yourself.”

“You should’ve told me.”

“Well excuse me if we didn’t spend a whole day going over everything you missed while you were gone!”

“That’s not what I meant,” Cas says immediately, raising both of his hands in a pleading gesture, “gosh, that makes so much more sense though.”

Dean figures Castiel is about half a second away from tearing his own hair out, so he reaches out again and takes both his hands in his, making sure to make eye contact with him in an attempt to steady them both. All he can see inside those baby blues right now is sheer panic.

“Hey? Whatever it is, we can handle it.”

“I knew there was something more to this case. I could feel it, Dean, I should’ve known. People didn’t have to die —“

“Cas,” Dean interrupts, brushing both his thumbs over Castiel’s hand in a soothing gesture, “please.”

“Marchosias has been after me since… basically forever. Which, for me, actually means several millennia.”

“Why? What the hell happened between the two of you? And more importantly: how are you still breathing if he’s been wanting you dead forever?”

“That’s the thing: he doesn’t. He wants to make me suffer. And he has managed to do so, repeatedly.”

“How?”

“Every few decades he’ll find a new way to make my existence a living hell, trashing whatever cover I have at the moment, hurting the ones around me, with the sole purpose of hurting me without touching a single hair on my head. And each time, I had to disappear from Earth for several years.”

“Okay — we are definitely not going to do that. What could you have possibly done to piss off a demon to this degree?”

“I…” Cas hesitates, eyeing Dean with a sudden and obvious discomfort, “back when he was a very rookie demon and I was still a… a defender of heaven, I… My faction and I set his whole squad on fire, as per ordered. He’s the only one who made it out.”

Dean must have a blank expression on his face after hearing this because Castiel is still eyeing him like he’s going to explode or something.

“Dude… You’re telling me there’s been a demon on your ass for actual decades, and you’ve never once decided to take care of him?”

“I felt like I kind of deserved the treatment, to be honest.”

“Cas, this happened ages ago! Why is this still a matter? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Demons have a way of nurturing a grudge that humans don’t, Dean. I never told you because I hadn’t thought of Marchosias in… Well, the last time he got to me was actually during what you call World War I.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m no—“

That’s the last thing he gets to say before Dean dissolves into roaring waves of laughter, falling on his back and fighting actual tears. Cas indulges him for a minute before he’s straddling both of his legs. Dean straightens himself then, letting his hand settle on the small of Castiel’s back, looking at him like he’s the most magnificent thing he’s ever seen (which is 100% what he is right now, sporting his glorious bed-head dark hair and miles of tanned bare skin displayed for Dean to watch with envy).

“Cas… Why would you think Marchosias would be involved in all of this? To what extent, and what purpose?” Dean says after he’s managed to calm himself down.

“He’s making us circle for evidence and explanation. When is the last time you struggled this much on a case that seemed so simple?”

“It’s been a while, yes, but —“

“Dean, it’s him. I’m sure,” Cas interrupts, looking down at Dean sprawled under him.

“Okay. Then we’ll get him, okay?” Dean says while he starts moving his hands on Castiel’s skin in a soothing gesture, “c’mere.”

It takes Cas half a second before he’s pressed up against Dean’s chest and they’re kissing like high-schools lovers, which all things considered, still make Dean feel giddy on the inside.

“Maybe we should… get a shower and get ready… and then maybe… if we do this right … we can be home tomorrow…” Cas managed to say in-between kisses, Dean sinking into a state where his lips have a life of their own, totally dissociated from his own body, “Jack sounded like he needed us.”

“Don’t talk about our kid when I’m kissing you, Cas, huge turn off,” Dean laughs against Castiel’s lips.

It’s all Castiel manages to be coherent about, because once Dean’s firm hands grab at his ass over his boxer-briefs, Cas lets go of everything remotely important to release a sinful little moan into the heat of Dean’s mouth. The angel moves his mouth to the side of Dean’s face then, leaving open-mouthed, hot, wet kisses from the hunter’s stubbled cheek to his collarbone.

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean breathes, shivering in delight as Cas keeps on laying kisses until he reaches Dean’s throat, nipping lightly at his skin, “where did you learn how to turn me into a hot mess?”

“I didn’t. I’m figuring it out,” Cas says with a mischievous smile on his lips as he raises his face to look at Dean, his pupils wide and dark, “is it working?”

There’s a very hungry smile on Dean’s face as he manages to sneak both his hands under Castiel’s black boxer-briefs and rest them both on his bare skin before he squeezes his ass while kissing the angel senseless, enjoying the groans that Castiel releases inside his mouth, both tongues brushing furiously against each other.

“I thought you didn’t want me yet,” Cas manages to ask, breaking the kiss and raising his head just high enough to glare at Dean, his pupils blown wide and filled with something that Dean can only interpret as desire, “you told me that just a few hours ago.”

“I want you every minute of every damn day. I just… do you not want that?” Dean asks, ready to crawl back into a hole if somehow Cas decides he doesn’t want him anymore, and starting to remove his hands from the very comfortable, warm place (Cas’ firm and glorious butt) they’ve been resting on for a minute in preparation for the inevitable rejection.

Which Cas doesn’t let him do, slapping his bicep with a furious look on his face, “don’t you dare remove your hands from my ass or so help me G—“

“Don’t bring dear-old-Dad into this,” Dean smirks, “so you want that? Me?”

Castiel tugs at his shirt in response, “if you don’t remove this I am going to rip it off you, Dean.”

“Yes, sir.”

And fucking hell does that voice and the hint of manhandling set Dean on actual fire. Soon enough his shirt gets tossed to the other side of the room and Castiel’s lips and hands are making their way on Dean’s bare skin, the hunter arching up into every single touch he lays down on him.

It’s barely enough and too much at the same time, the way Cas’ fingertips trails on Dean, breathing fire underneath his skin, making all of it both almost unbearable and delicious. Sometimes Dean forgets just how much he needs someone to touch him like he’s worth something, like he’s not a default, a simple shell, like he’s actually capable of being loved.

He’s not used to gentle touches, to eyes filled with love roaming on his body, to lips worshiping his skin and warming him up from the inside, but rather to hands grabbing hungrily at his flesh and foreign hands manhandling him for the cheer pursuit of a pleasure unshared. And he’s been fine with it for years, fine with being used as a tool designed exclusively for this, fine with being a toy you toss to the other side once you’re done taking pleasure from him, mainly because he didn’t have to get invested in anyone while allowing his body to be used by any random man or woman he’d crossed path with, in the midst of any dive bar, in whatever state they would be. And he kind of liked it, too, on some level, because sex was Dean’s way of blowing off some steam outside of killing monsters and he wasn’t one to refuse any kind of party.

But this, looking at Cas’ eyes filled with unreachable adoration? Cas, who’s seen him at his worst and most terrible moments, who’s supported him even when he didn’t deserve him, who died, went through Heaven and Hell, chose to stand by his side and betray his own kind for him, and still decided to love him despite it all?

It all makes sense in the moment somehow. It’s love. Undying, impossible, indestructible love. And Dean yearns for the connection, yearns for Cas’ heart as it all comes down on him.

Cas breaks off with a groan as Dean kisses his way across his jawline and nips right beneath his ear, both hands clutching him impossibly closer.

“If I do anything you don’t feel comfortable with,” Dean whispers inside his ear, fighting the urge to release another deep moan at the feeling of Cas’ mouth mapping the edges of his collarbone, “please just say so, and I’ll stop. You know… consent.”

“What are you planning on doing?” Cas asks, raising his head just enough to lock eyes with Dean, a mischievous smile on his bruised lips.

Dean can’t help but surges forward to capture Castiel’s bottom lips between his teeth, delighting in the animalistic groan that rips its way from Cas’ throat, kissing him hard and wet and deep. He tangles one of his hands in that dark mess of hair he loves so much while the other one finally makes its way through Castiel’s skin, fingertips running down on his rib cage, pausing to thumb at his nipples and savoring the soft gasp the angel releases at the touch.

Dean absent-mindedly wonders if what they’re doing right now makes him a sinner (as if what he’s been doing for the past three decades didn’t already), but quickly decides that if it truly is the case, he’s content with going straight back to Hell for it. Hell, he’s wanted this for so long it’s an intoxicating hastiness to finally feel it etched into every single one of his bones.

When his hand finally reaches for Castiel’s cock over his boxer-briefs, the angel releases a seriously filthy moan that makes the hunter smile as he mouths at Cas’ throat. Dean starts trailing fingers over the hard bulge, making the former angels squirm under the weight of his grasp over him, releasing a couple of deep moans that send a wave of goosebumps over Dean’s skin. The hunter watches, his eyes wide with fascination as his partner slowly falls apart above him.

“God — _Dean_ ,” Castiel whimpers as the hunter bites kisses into the cut of his jaw, finally grabbing his cock inside his boxers, “ _Dean_ …” just a breath as he closes his eyes, tasting the feeling of Dean’s hand pumping firmly, then opening them again just to find Dean’s solid gaze over him, “yes, _yes_ , **_yes_**.”

“I want you in my mouth, right now. Is that okay with you?” Dean whispers right there against his jaw, his hand still pumping Cas’ cock with furious determination, “Fuck, I hope that’s okay with you because I really fucking want it right now.”

Cas laughs against his mouth, kissing him infuriatingly slowly before he finally breathes a “yes, that’s very okay with me, you may proceed with your mouth”, and Dean hums in satisfaction as Cas’ lips gently trail down his neck before he gently shoves him down on his back.

He has no choice but to pause for a fleeting couple of seconds, just watching as _**his**_ angel of the goddamn Lord lays on his back, half-naked, hard exposed and — _Oh, God_ — thick cock, and miles of tanned skin on display for Dean to worship.

Dean can’t help but let his mouth water in anticipations, with a hint of “ _God, Winchester, you’re really gay for him aren’t you_?” on the side. Not that he particularly cares, because yes, he is, _thank you very much._

Cas looks at him then, a hungry look dancing on his lips, “Well? Why are we both still wearing pants?”

Dean practically throws himself at him, Cas’ husky voice going straight through his dick as reaches out for his underwear, practically ripping it off of him. Castiel is naked then, and Dean can’t help but seeing him in all his glory.

He looks beautiful. Not that Dean didn’t noticed before (because he did, repeatedly, mind you), but right now, naked and panting, waiting for him with wide blue eyes filled with lust, and want and yearning?

Yeah, fucking supernova.

Dean grips the angel’s hips tightly but carefully, making sure he’s not hurting him while peppering light kisses all over Cas’ thighs — man, did he have wet dreams about these thighs — thrilled by the groans and moans and “fuck, _Dean_ ” that Castiel releases along the way. The angel tightens his grip as he cards through Dean’s hair, right when Dean decides he’s had enough of foreplay and finally works his mouth around the head of Cas’ aching cock.

The whine coming from Castiel’s throat once he goes down on him will most probably be permanently engraved on his heart from now on and a permanent subject to wet dreams. The hand in his hair goes softer, Cas petting him as Dean worships the angel’s cock with his mouth, staring at him while he slowly but surely loses it, holding on for dear life with his other hand fisted in his own dark mess of hair like he needs to anchor himself to reality.

Dean works his mouth along the shaft of Cas’ dick for a long while, occasionally flicking his tongue over the head and delighting in the little thrills that go through his whole body every single time Cas moans his name, his hand tightening inside his hair.

“Dean,” Cas pants again, looking down at him as the hunter slides his tongue right along the underside of his cock, the head bumping into soft palate and slipping onward, swallowing around him while never tearing his gaze away from Cas, “ _Ohhhh_ , God,” he moans, forgetting everything else as he finally comes, Dean swallowing around him.

“What’s up, angel,” Dean asks, easing off of him with an obscene pop, a dirty smile on his smug face.

Cas grabs his shoulders and hauls him up to his face easily, both hands tight as they card through Dean’s hair, and they share a kiss that leaves them breathless, panting against each other’s mouth. Dean can see the sweat running down Castiel’s temple and he reaches out, kissing along his cheek until he meets the angel’s pulse point, grinning like an idiot when he can feel the shiver going through Cas’ entire body, the angel then tilting his head to give Dean better access. One of Castiel’s hand goes down his spine until it meets Dean’s ass, grabbing at his cheek with a ferocity bordering savagery, making Dean whimper against Cas’ throat, his cock still heavy trapped between both of their bodies.

“I want to watch you while I’m taking you apart, Dean,” Cas finally says, his voice rough with arousal, right against Dean’s ear, “I want to feel you around me, I want to feel you everywhere, and I want to watch as I make you lose yourself.”

The air flees Dean’s lung the moment Cas makes the promise, and he honest to God growls against the angel’s throat, Cas’ second hand leaving his hair to go down and wrap around his aching cock.

“Ahhh — Cas, _fuck_! Yeah, _yes_ , _sweetheart_ ,” he pants as Cas slowly works around his length, precome already leaking from the tip of his cock.

His eyes flutter shut, the sensation of Castiel’s fingers sinking down around his dick, slick and tight and everything he’s asked for, making him see stars. When he opens them again, Cas’ ocean blues are staring right back at him, filled with so much desire and lust that he can’t help but reach out for his mouth again.

“Am I doing this right?” Cas asks, ever eager to learn in any circumstances, his strong hand bringing Dean closer to the edge every movement.

“Yeah, angel, you’re doing very go— oh, _fuck, yes_ , just like that,” Dean whimpers as Cas quickens his pace, his wrist twisted as he works over his length. 

“For so long I’ve wanted to know,” Cas murmurs against his hair, “to know how you’d feel against me, how you’d sound, how you’d look, how you’d taste while you allow yourself to finally fall apart.”

A low whine escapes Dean’s throat at Castiel’s words, his entire body burning low from the sensation of Cas around him, and the way every single word he pronounces lights him up like actual fire. Their eyes never waver, never look away, blue meets green, and melt together as the urge grows.

“Once we’re home I’m going to take hours mapping your skin out. I’m going to figure out how each one of your muscles rolls underneath my fingers,” Cas murmurs, “I’m going to figure out what makes you whimper, and what makes you scream, and what makes you squirm,” he kisses Dean’s stubbled cheek gently, tightening his grip around Dean’s dick as he releases a long moan against him, “and you’re going to like every single second of it, Dean.”

“Cas, I’m close —,” Dean whimpers, panting against Cas’ cheek, his hips thrusting steadily into the tunnel of Castiel’s hand around him, his cock leaking with precome.

“I’m going to make you mine. You’re going to be mine, and mine only, you get that?”

“I’m already yours, sweetheart,” Dean’s voice is barely a whisper at that point, as he succumbs to the sensation of both Castiel’s hand pumping fast around him and his words lingering on his soul like fireworks, “ _always been yours_.”

“Come on, come for me, Dean,” Cas whispers, bringing Dean’s face closer so that he can catch his bottom lip between his teeth and bit gently before kissing him.

Dean finally comes then, his mind flashing white as he releases warmth over Castiel’s knuckles and stomach, crying out against his lips. They share a few lazy kisses before Dean drops his head in the crook of Cas’ neck, his breathing finally returning to a steady pace.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, warm breath skittering over Cas’ skin, “the fucking mouth on you, what a goddamn smooth-talker you make.”

“Wasn’t “smooth-talking” you, Dean. Merely making promises I intend to keep,” Cas smiles against him, enveloping him with his arms.

Dean thinks he could actually stay like that for hours, safe inside Castiel’s arms, snuck up against his warmth. He peppers little kisses against Cas’ skin, clutching him impossibly closer, tenderness overflowing.

“Was it okay?” he asks quietly against Castiel’s ear after a while.

“It was perfect, Dean,” Cas answers with a kiss on his jaw, “and I meant every single word. Just so you know.”

“Which ones, Angel? The ones about watching me while you take me apart?” Dean teases, looking down to catch Castiel’s gaze, “or when you talked about making me squirm?”

“All of it. And it’s a promise, Dean. Just so you know,” he says again, a dangerous little grin dancing on his lips.

“Oh I know, sweetheart. Looking forward to going home with this firmly imprinted in the back of my head.”

Cas laughs against him then, and Dean could swear it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

“Okay, we gotta get you cleaned up angel. It’s gonna get gross otherwise,” he says after a while, still dazed by the intensity but getting up nonetheless, “come on, c’mere”.

He’s extending his hand for Cas to take, about to lead him to the bathroom to wipe out the traces of his pleasure on Cas’ tanned skin when a big white flash occurs, and Dean gives up trying to comprehend anything as he falls and sinks into unconscious.

*******

It’s cold, and everything _hurts_. That’s the first thing that crosses through Castiel’s mind as he slowly regains consciousness, gradually retrieving control over his body. It’s something he has to re-learn, waiting for his body to function at its own pace, not rushing it, and it’s infuriating.

Especially when you’re tied up to chains hanging from a ceiling in a room that looks like a torture donjon, and your blood is leaking to the floor at a disturbing rate (because yes, now you actually bleed, and it’s equally annoying).

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who’s ripped him off from his perfect moment, but Cas still get thrown off when Marchosias turn around to look at him, a sadistic grin on his demonic face.

If Castiel was a regular human, he would think that the man before him is actually quite attractive. Dressed to the nines, Marchosias is sporting his usual crisp blonde, swept-back hair, and you could practically smell the disdain and hear the irksome East Anglia accent he makes a point of cultivating as if he was straight out of Norfolk radiating from his stiff stature alone.

But Castiel is no regular human, and once you take away the clothes and the tone and the gesturing, he knows Marchosias from top to bottom, enough to be wary of what’s to come.

“Well, well, Castiel. At last, we meet again.”

“Marchosias,” Cas growls, “Is that what all this case was about?”

“If you mean “dandling with your heart and then ripping it right off you”, then yes, that’s what all of this was about.”

“What do you want,” he stops to spit on the floor and quietly freak out at the sight of blood, then picks up again, “Why are you even doing this?”

“Well, for kicks, obviously,” Marchosias answers, Suffolk accent one could all but understand, “and revenge, but you know that already. And it’s a pleasure seeing as you finally bleed! Castiel, Angel of the Lord extraordinaire, is now human.”

The emphasis on the last word stings against Castiel’s heart, and he ducks his head, watching as a small pool of blood starts forming below him. It’s then that he notices he’s only wearing his pair of jeans, no shoes, and his stomach sports no traces of his antics with Dean.

_Dean._

“Ah, yes, you must wonder… Don’t worry, your boy toy is safe. For now, at least.”

“He’s going to come for you,” Castiel snarls, “and when he does —“

“When he does, I’ll be right here to sweep him off his feet and kill him very slowly right in front of your eyes. And for that, Castiel, I need to thank you.”

Marchosias comes closer then, his face only a few inches from Castiel’s face, their noses almost brushing.

“Thank you for providing me with the most utterly perfect way of hurting you. Quite frankly the only thing I wouldn’t have imagined myself if it didn’t unfold before my eyes,” he scoffs, looking right at him, “Love, Castiel. Love is the ultimate way of breaking you apart.And I’m going to enjoy every single moment of it.”

Marchosias breaks eye contact then, sending a sharp look behind Castiel, and when the whips clash against his skin it’s like he doesn’t even feel the physical pain.

He’s too busy being consumed by the fear that overflows his senses.

*******

When Dean awakes what feels like a blink of an eye later, the bed is empty and he is lying on the floor. He feels completely strained, totally empty, and _God_ , does his head _fucking hurts_ (and at least for once it’s not the good old-fashioned tequila hungover talking).

No traces of Cas. Except for the pool of blood staining the sheets they shared just moments ago, turning Dean’s stomach into stone.

Cas is human now. He _bleeds_ , and _hurts_ , and **_dies_** , just like the rest of them.

Dean bolts upright, throwing his clothes on as fast as he can (and who cares if he put his tee-shirt on inside-out, really) before retrieving his gun from the pillow and the angel blade from his bag, and heading for the door.

Of fucking course, this had to happen now, after everything they’ve been through, after finally allowing themselves to have it all, is what Dean minds go through has he opens the door in a furious gesture.

Of course, it had to happen before Dean could even scratch the surface on the millions of things he still has to say to Cas.

The corridor is silent as he makes his way towards the offices, like a sixth sense is guiding his path. Cas mentioned that Marchosias had to make a deal with the Algea, and there’s only one person Dean hasn’t tested yet that could fit the profile, even if it kind of breaks his heart because, man, he truly did like her.

When he enters Mrs. Pritchard’s office, it doesn’t surprise him to find it empty.

What does surprise him, though, is the click of a gun and the feeling of the barrel pressed sharply against his lower back.

_Man, he’s getting too old for this shit._

“Mr. Winchester, pleased to see you’ve finally figured it out,” Mrs. Pritchard mouths against his ear, “what gave me away?”

“Where’s Cas?” Dean asks, not bothering to answer as the Algea takes his gun from his hand.

“Ah, don’t worry. I’ll take you to him once I’ve had my little fun with you,” she says as she pushes him to the couch, gun still pointed him, grabbing the plastic zip ties on her desk.

Dean smirks at her while she locks both his hands tightly, “I’m sorry, I thought you might have heard… I’m not on the market anymore.”

“Yes, yeah! Your little story was so touching I might have thrown up a little bit in my mouth,” Mrs. Pritchard — holy shit, the Algea — says as she sat in front of Dean, like she’s starting another therapy session only her “client” is now tied up and she’s still holding a gun, “I break everything I touch, Cas means too much to me,” she mocks him.

The unpleasant sheer that goes through Dean’s entire body and irks all of his senses doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Ah, I really got you, didn’t I?”

“So none of what you told me was real?”

“Oh it was real alright, but literally anyone in the room could have told that you and your angel were high heels over each other, to be fair. Only you two morons couldn’t seem to figure it out. But that’s even better for me now, because you’re going to taste so. much. better, now that you’ve allowed yourself to finally love,” she sneers, watching as disgust colors Dean’s face, “come on now, let’s get going, we have an appointment to make!”

“Why are you working with him? At what cost?”

The Algea stops on her tracks to get him up, looking at him with an almost surprised look on her face.

“Working with him? I’m not working with him. I’m his partner. We’ve been doing this for quite a while, he and I, and when he told me about his little quarrel with Castiel —”

“A quarrel? It was billions of years ago, dude can’t book a therapy session and be done with it?” Dean interrupts, but the Algea keeps talking like she doesn’t hear any of what he has to say.

“I figured out a way to attract the two of you out there. Marchosias just didn’t know you were actually in love with each other, but that was another blessing because now it allows us to inflict more pain on the little bugger.”

Dean couldn’t help but scoff, “the little bugger is going to smite your ass to Hell, lady.”

“Yeah… Heard he’s not doing so well? But hey, I guess we’ll see that when we get there in a minute. Come on now, we do have an appointment and I hate being late.”

Dean can practically feel his own blood chilling inside his veins, because yeah, Cas did say he thought he was fully human now, and it’s not a good thing considering he’s been taken by his long-time nemesis that Dean had no time to research or anything because he only found out an hour ago.

_Fucking hell._

“Come on Cas,” he mutters under his breath as Mrs. Pritchard/the goddamn Algea drags him through the distinctively empty hallway, “come on babe, hang on, I’m coming.”

Because sure, Castiel might not be the angel of the Lord he once was in all his glory, but Dean doesn’t really care if he is or not, on some level.

Cas is _his_. And no one is going to take him away from him.

*******

The whip claps against Castiel back for what feels like the hundredth time, but he barely allows a whimper to pass his lips. It feels like hours since he woke up attached to these chains, and yet the clock on the side of the wall tells him he opened his eyes barely half an hour ago. The pool of blood has been growing non-stop under him, and it feels like unconsciousness is looming again.

Being human is too tiring.

The sound of hurried footsteps on the concrete ground and the loud grunt he could recognize anywhere finally push Castiel to raise his head up again, and just as the whip marbles his skin again he locks eye with emerald green.

He can’t help the loud yelp that escapes from the back of his throat then, and he has to watch as Dean’s face crumbles into terror and wild rage, struggling to try and come closer to him before a hand clasps loudly at his shoulder and he is forced to his knees right in front of him.

“Well, well, Dean Winchester. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Marchosias says, voice honeyed to the point where it turns Castiel’s stomach into a pool of disgust and he’s barely able to contain a gag.

Dean raises his head to watch the demon, the most scornful look on his face that Castiel has ever seen — and he’s seen a lot — before he scoffs, “I can’t say the feeling is mutual, pal. Apparently you have an issue with letting go grudges from eons ago. Why don’t you book yourself some therapy, or buy yourself a bottle of good old whiskey like everyone else?”

Marchosias laughs loudly, pacing while Mrs. Pritchard — Goddammit, Castiel _knew_ she was shady — ties Dean’s hands to matching chains hanging from the ceiling, facing him. He looks for Dean’s gaze, finally locking eyes with him. Then starts an entirely silent conversation between the two of them, starting with Cas’ “I’m sorry” to Dean’s concerned “are you okay?”, while Marchosias goes on one of his never-ending rants.

“See, Castiel, when Natalie here and I planned this little stunt to attract you and your partner here, we did our research on Mr. Winchester over there… And we heard a lot of things, from the way you killed thousands of men for this man alone to when you chose humanity. But see, I never counted on love to be a part of the picture. So imagine my surprise when we found out he’s actually your boyfriend! What a joy! It’s the cherry on top of it all! I’ve been after you for eons, and never once did I think it would come to this,” Marchosias comes closer then, interrupting Dean and Cas’ silent conversation, “I’m going to enjoy watching you as I take Dean here apart in front of your eyes.”

Castiel closes his eyes for a split second, thinking back to a few hours ago when he promised Dean he would “watch him as he’d take him apart.”

God, what an awful timing this all was.

When he opens his eyes back up, the demon that was whipping him is behind Dean and Marchosias is tearing Dean’s tee-shirt in half. He tries locking eyes with Dean again, but the hunters look is one of perfect concentration, unwavering as he locks on a point above Castiel’s head. Cas recognize the anticipation in Dean’s body, the way he’s stiffened his back and straightened his legs to be able to cope with the coming pain.

“Dean,” Cas can’t help but please, his voice coming across as brittle, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, angel.”

“Please, look at me.”

Dean lowers his gaze then, locking eyes with him, “We’re gonna be f—“

It’s all he gets to say before the first clash, and the scream that comes out of his mouth is going to be engraved on Castiel’s heart for the rest of his days.

“W-we’re gonna b-be f-fine, baby,” Dean stutters, fighting for air.

“Awww, look at him. Our brave little soldier,” Marchosias says, cupping Dean’s cheek, “he thinks he’s got a way out of here! No one is coming, Winchester.”

“Fuck you, you big ol’ bag of d— ahhhh,” Dean’s fuming gets interrupted by the whips again.

It’s an endless cycle from then. The whip marbles Dean’s skin again, and again, and again, a restless dance against his back as Castiel watches the man he loves slowly fading away, the blood leaking from under him into a growing pool, completely helpless. Dean never wavers, keeps talking to Cas between broken noises and painful whines. Marchosias goes on perpetual rants that Castiel’s blurry mind can’t seem to catch. The only constant is Dean’s green eyes locked inside of his, unwavering, and Dean’s words forming silently on his lips.

It’s when Dean mutely says “I’m going to pass out” after he notices the glint fading from his emeralds that Castiel feels it rising.

He can feel it in his bones every time the whip clashes on Dean’s skin, inside his muscles every time a drop of blood colors the concrete ground. It’s rising from an ancient place in Castiel’s mind, throbbing through his veins slowly but surely, filling him up for what’s probably the last time. Some part of him knows deep down that it’s probably the end of it, the last couple of drops, the rest of what’s left of his angelic disposition.

“Angel,” Dean breathes one last time, searching for Castiel’s eyes in the dim light of the shed, “No one’s coming. I’m sorry.”

“Stay with me,” Cas pleads, his voice hoarse and broken, “Dean, stay with me. Dean!”

Dean’s head drops on his chest and he’s completely unresponsive when the whip hits his skin one more time.

“Looks like Castiel’s boyfriend finally left the party, after all,” Natalie’s grating voice says.

It’s then that Castiel can finally feel it sparks.

It rises from the pit inside his stomach, coursing rapidly through his veins, building up inside his chest and radiating through his arms. And then, finally, it flashes through his eyes, and God, did he miss it.

He breaks from the chains easily then, and both the Algea and the demon holding the whips don’t even have the time to register that the former Angel of the Lord is moving again.

Castiel grabs the whipping demon by the throat first, skin burning in contact with his fingers and delighting in the painful cries he lets out before he blasts him away to Hell with a flick of his fingertips.

Natalie is on him when he turns around, trying to bite at his throat but Castiel sends her flying away in a movement, straddling her to the ground and grabbing the angel blade she has in hand (which Cas figure is probably one she took off of Dean).

“You really thought this would be enough to take on me?” he whispers, a delighted and dangerous grin floating on his lips, “Really? Okay, then does it works on you?”

He tests his theory, cutting lightly at the Algea’s throat, and sure enough, she whimpers in deep pain, fumbling with Cas’ weight to try to get him off her.

The weight of Cas’ wrath weights way more than she’s ever going to be able to lift, though, so it’s a mission failure on that end.

“Mark,” she cries out then, trying to get the demon’s attention, “Come on, kill him!”

Castiel raises his head to watch the demon, propped up against a wall on the other side of the room, watching with all his intensity as Castiel is pinning his partner down. There’s a shadow of a diabolic smile on his lips, and Cas understands very well what it means.

“He’s not going to help you out, Nat,” Castiel says with a soft voice, “he doesn’t give a shit about you. That’s what you get for getting in bed with a demon.”

“Mark! Marchosias, you son of a bitch, you promised!” she cries out again.

Castiel dives the angel blade very slowly into her heart, delighting in all the pain he’s causing, watching as life finally leaves the monster and the vessel turns to stone below him.

“So that’s what it takes, uh? All I needed was to break your boyfriend for you to retrieve your grace? I wonder what that says about you,” Marchosias voice comes in, tearing Cas away from his contemplating.

He rises up again in an instant then, and flies him across the room, pushing him against the wall with a flick of his wrist, wrath coming down on him in waves and grace twinkling inside of him as he locks the angel blade right below the demon’s throat.

“Dean is not my boyfriend,” he growls, coming ever so closer to the demon trapped under his weight, “I don’t expect you to understand what Dean means to me. It’s clear you wouldn’t be able to.”

“Oh come on, try me, I have a soft spot for chick flicks anyway,” Marchosias says, his mocking grin slowly fading away as he watches Castiel’s dark look.

“He’s the sun when I’m lost in darkness, he’s the warmth of every single one of my cold nights. His heart is bigger than the entire cosmos, and he’ll lose it all over the ones he loves, that's who he really is,” Cas says in one breath, their forehead almost touching as he pins Marchosias to the wall even more tightly, “Dean is not my boyfriend. He’s everything and nothing all at once. He’s the universe towards which I gravitate. He’s the air that I breathe, the only consistency in the big bad mess that is my life.”

Castiel’s hands close around Marchosias throat, and the contact alone seems to burn the demon’s skin, which brings a scary smile to Cas’ lips.

“So yes, it seems like all it took for me to realize I’ve let you dance around me for far too long was Dean, and all it took for you to spark my fury was to lay your hand on him,” he growls as the fire keeps burning, almost reaching Marchosias’ chin, “and I’m not going to allow you this from you anymore, you understand?”

Marchosias try to plead before his eyes flashes and Cas finally lets go of his throat, the vessel collapsing on the floor, no traces of demonic presence left.

There’s a hint of relief coursing through his veins, knowing that page is finally over and the turn is just around the corner.

“Cas,” a faint voice calls out for him, and Castiel rushes to Dean’s side, both knees dropping to the floor as he frames his face between both of his hands.

He looks terrible, and that’s an understatement. He’s lost so much blood that even Castiel is not entirely sure he will be able to come back from this unless he rushes them both to the hospital, and it’s clearly out of the picture right now.

When even Cas acknowledge how bad it looks, it’s when things really aren’t looking up.

A single tear rolls on Dean’s cheek as he finally closes his eyes, pushing against Castiel’s palm.

“You’re going to be okay, baby,” Cas whispers, bringing his lips to Dean’s and dropping a soft kiss against them, “I’m going to fix this.”

“You can’t. It’ll take it all away from you.”

“I don’t care, Dean.”

“I’m not worth it.”

“You’re worth everything and then some.”

Dean opens his eyes again, and Cas can see how they’re filled with unshed tears, how vibrant they still are despite Dean’s state. He kisses his lips once more and this time Dean responds, linking their tongue and sharing a kiss that tastes like salt.

Because Dean is crying, still attached to these chains. Castiel rises to his feet then and unties him, supporting Dean’s weight as he collapses against him.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you,” he whispers against his ear, Dean finally dropping his head against Cas’ shoulder, letting a small huff out as he finally delights in the warmth of Castiel radiating against him, “you’re going to be okay.”

“You know I’m not,” Dean whispers faintly against him, unable to make the simplest of gestures, “I can feel it coming. Never thought I’d go down after being whipped by a psycho-maniac demon holding a stupid grudge, but hey, here we are.”

His voice is broken and choppy as he laughs, weak as it comes out of his mouth and stings Castiel right in the middle of his heart. He lowers Dean then, letting him rest on the floor as he rests on his knees next to him, both hands locked tightly in his.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean says, tears rolling out on his cheeks as he watches Castiel’s face come closer, dropping a kiss on his forehead, the bridge of his nose and finally his lips, “I’m sorry, God, I'm sorry we’ve lost so much time.”

“You’re not going to die, Dean,” Cas says, brushing his fingers alongside Dean’s jaw tenderly, “not on my watch.”

He can feel what’s left of his grace still within him, and he knows what he has to do. And he’s fine with it, all of it, because for once he gets to make his own choice.

“We still have plenty of time. Remember those promises I made earlier?” he asks with a smile while he lets his hands wander on each side of Dean’s ribcage

“Yeah, I do, angel,” Dean answers with a faint smile, “very well, as a matter of fact.”

“Well, you’re gonna want to stay alive a little longer, okay?”

“Cas —“

The angel starts working on him then, eyes glowing and hand roaming on Dean’s skin, patching him up little by little, not taking Dean’s refusal into account.

“Cas, _stop_ ,” Dean demands, pushing his hands away, and the angel stops on his tracks, looking down at him, “you’re going to kill yourself.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. We’re gonna be fine,” Cas reassures him, “besides, it doesn’t make any sense not to use what’s left of my grace to save the love of my life.”

Dean smiles faintly, his eyes glimmering with a hint of cockiness, “love of your life, uh?”

“Shut up,” Cas answers, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “stay put.”

“You idiot,” Dean answers, eyes closing on impact as Cas’ cups his jaw.

“It’s fine. I want this. I’m _choosing_ this, Dean. I’m choosing _you_.”

He closes his eyes once more, not letting go of Dean has his grace rises through his vessel once again, overflowing him as it works through Dean’s entire state, patching him up in all the places he’s hurt.

Castiel tries to enjoy the taste of his powers one last time, try to catalog each and every single sensations that go through him as Dean whines quietly under his palms. He never fears that using the rest of it is going to kill him, or that it might not be enough to save Dean. He has enough faith in his powers, once unwavering, to know it’s going to answer him one last time.

Who cares if saving one last person takes away all of what made him an angel for eternity?

For Dean, he would lose it all.

It takes a while before Castiel can distinctly feel it fading away, his palms resting on Dean’s bare chest, all energy gone from him. He feels hollow, empty, exhausted. He opens his eyes again when he feels Dean’s hand cupping his cheek.

Blue meets green, and the ghost of a smile on his hunter’s lips could light up the entire room in an instant.

“You never listen, do you?” Dean asks.

“I learned from the best.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas says, gently brushing a finger over Dean’s jaw, “I’m as fine as I’ll ever be now.”

“Which means?”

“Human.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean says with concern.

“Don’t be,” Castiel bends down, dropping a soft kiss on Dean’s forehead, “I chose this. And I’m fine with it.”

_And I’ll choose you, over and over again. I’ll choose you through thick and thin, forever and ever, until the ends of time._

_I’ll choose you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are still here? Are you mad at me?
> 
> Fine. Drop your thoughts in the comment, because I can't wait to hear them!
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com), and [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/HitTheRoadJus).
> 
> You can also [send me a prompt](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com/ask) for me to write a quick one-shot :)


	11. Feels something like summertime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A successful monster hunt and a road trip back to Lebanon later, Dean and Cas make it home to Jack and attempt to deal with the changes both into their relationships and their lives.
> 
> _**Titled after lyrics from "Summertime" by Bon Jovi** _
> 
> Friendly reminder that English is **not** my native language, so there's likely going to be mistakes! Please bear with my french ass :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd we're back, with one finale chapter! It's taken a whole month for me to get through this (writer's block be damned), and I look forward to your reactions in the comment section!
> 
> Again, thanks to those of you who reached out to know if I was doing okay, and thanks to those of you who commented/left kudos/subscribed and enjoyed this little story.
> 
> It's been a wild and epic ride, and I'm really glad that so many of you have enjoyed these two idiots being their usual moronic selves. 
> 
> The Epilogue will be dropping next Monday, so it's not really the end yet.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you, for tagging along and being the the all-around best gang of readers.
> 
> (I'll see ya in the comment section).

It turns out things get handled quicker and better than expected in the end.

Steve, concerned about not finding the therapist and his two favorite undercover FBI agents, had called in local law enforcement. Both Dean and Cas had to come clean about being with the FBI, Sam handling the inevitable “checking in to see if the DC field office had sent any Agents Cartellone undercover to Nashville” call, and from then on everything moved on smoothly.

It’s when they’re finally returning to their bedroom that Dean allows himself to reach for Cas’ hand, pulling him closer while they walk through the corridors. The warmth of Cas’ body against his own is enough to keep him grounded, at last.

“You okay?” he finally asks as they enter the room and Cas lets go of his hand to drop on the bed face first.

“I’m not sure,” Cas answers with a groan, voice muffled by the pillow as Dean sits on the edge of the bed, bringing a hand to Cas’ back and softly massaging between his shoulder blades, the soft fabric of the cotton-blend tee shirt he’s been given after the police found them moving slowly under Dean’s fingertips, “God, that feels good.”

“Yeah?” Dean smiles, “how’s your back? Did it heal?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Want me to check?”

“Go ahead.”

Dean sneaks a hand under Cas’ shirt, running his palm over the skin of his back to find it untouched, breathing a sigh of relief at the touch. He lets his fingertips glide over the curve of Cas’ shoulder blades, delighting in the little huffs of comfort coming out from the angel’s mouth.

“You’re as good as new, sweetheart.”

“Good to know,” he groans inside the pillow.

“Okay.”

“We should talk.”

“About what?” Castiel grunts, face dropping onto the pillow again, “I’m not discussing my choice with you anymore. It’s done.”

“You could’ve killed yourself, Cas.”

“And you could have died.”

“So? I’m just one man.”

“God, what’s it going to take to finally wrap that brain of yours around it?” Cas curses, his voice a low grumble into the pillow, “no, you’re not “just one man”, Dean.”

Dean is almost offended by the way Castiel uses his name as if he just added “you stupidly dense motherfucker”.

Or turned on. Sometimes it’s a fine line.

Cas’ voice might have been muffled through where his face is pressed up against the pillow, but Dean knows him enough to figure out that he’s pissed off, if only for the way his whole back muscles tense immediately under his fingertips.

“Okay, Cas,” Dean breaks the heavy silence that sits between them after a second, “I get it, but it legitimately could have killed you on the spot.”

“I knew I could do it. And even if I didn’t, I still would’ve saved you.”

“So what you’re saying is you can do every reckless thing to save me but I’m not allowed to? Talk about double standards, man.”

“You know what? I said I wasn’t going to discuss it with you, so I’m not. You can stay pissed at me if you want to, but ultimately it’s not going to change the fact that every time you’re in danger I’m going to make a run for it, even if I have to give everything up for you to be safe. It’s not up for discussion, and I don’t care what you think. It’s the way it’s going to be. It’s the way it’s always been.”

“Cas…”

The angel raises on his elbow just enough to glare at Dean, which would almost make the hunter laugh if he wasn’t buried so deep inside his own emotions.

“Babe… We can’t do that anymore.”

“Don’t “babe” me to get through this, it’s not going to work,” Cas warns, but Dean ignores him and keeps going.

“I don’t want us to be stuck in that terrible dance anymore, the one where every single time one of our life is on the line the other comes running straight into danger, no question asked. It’s stupid and it’s pointless and it’s what got us through so much pain, I…”

Dean’s voice breaks there, and he can feel the pain rising, the one that clutched to his heart every single time Cas died while he was left here alone and useless. If he concentrates enough, he can almost find the smell of burning pyre and suffocating ashes dancing in the darkness of a chilly night a couple of years back, his heart broken and his soul searching helplessly for someone who had left him behind.

Cas seems to finally understand that he’s being serious about this, as he turns over and sits on the bed facing him, searching for his gaze that Dean tries so hard to avoid.

“I can’t risk losing you, Cas. I get it, I know what you mean because I would the exact same thing… But sweetheart, that’s exactly _why_ we have to stop doing this.”

He can feel Castiel’s hand reaching for his, intertwining their fingers tightly as he closes his eyes, that dull pain almost silencing everything else inside his own body.

“I don’t want to wake up every day and wonder if you’re still going to be there the next day or if you’re going to sacrifice yourself to save me again. We can’t do it anymore. I can’t. I don’t _want_ _to_.”

“So what are you saying? I should just stop caring?”

“No, I’m saying we need to stop acting like idiots.”

“So you’re calling me an idiot because I used the rest of my grace to save you?”

“I’m saying **_I love you_** , you stupid dumbfuck.”

Somewhere in the back of Dean’s mind, woven in a dark little corner he’s cultivated for decades, he knows that handing those 3 little words over means you allow yourself to get hurt again. He knows the weight that falls on each letter, the way it makes your heart terrified and flutters at the same time, the electricity that goes along until it reaches the tip of your tongue once you let it out.

He expects to feel the rampant fear clinging to his blood, the sudden realization that he just handed the keys to breaking him up to someone else, the panic making his heart beat so hard it could practically collapse against his ribcage.

What he doesn’t expect is the relief coursing through his veins once he’s said it, the way it feels like he has just dropped the weight of the world he’s been carrying for what feels like forever.

Because it’s _Cas_. It’s _always_ been Cas. It’s always been _only_ about Cas, he realizes as he opens his eyes only to be met by wild baby blues flickering with a whirlwind of so many emotions he could probably drown in it and never make it back to the surface.

“I love you and I don’t want to lose you ever again. Does that sound like something you can get by?” he adds, barely managing to keep his voice steady.

Cas reaches for him then, in the quiet and comfortable silence of their room, part of their clothes still soaked with blood that isn’t specifically and only their own. Lips meet again and it’s like the whole world exhales as they lose themselves in each other. Castiel’s fingers tremble as they sneak under Dean’s shirt, skimming down his skin leaving goosebumps in their wake, his other hand buried in Dean’s hair.

Somehow it’s like being stitched back together and being made whole again.

And Dean’s not afraid anymore, not really. Because he’s handing the keys to his heart to Cas, and if there’s anyone he knows he can trust on this planet except for himself and his brother, _it’s Cas_.

“Goddammit” Cas whispers after a while, lips brushing against Dean’s mouth as they mutually gasp for oxygen, “You always find a way to get through me, uh?”

“It’s my superpower, babe,” Dean says, a cocky smile on his face that doesn’t even disappear when Cas furiously kisses him while framing his face with both of his hands, “Wanna go home?”

“Can’t we stay a little bit longer?” Cas whines as Dean moves away.

“I thought you couldn’t wait to go home?”

“I do, I just… All things considered, it’s been nice having this space together here, just… You know, the two of us.”

Dean smiles, cupping his once-upon-an-angel’s cheek, tenderness overflowing as Cas closes his eyes and pushes into Dean’s palm.

“Cas, just because we’re going home doesn’t mean we can’t have this. You know that, right?”

“What do you mean?” Cas asks with a candor that almost makes Dean’s heart sink.

“I mean I’m not planning on keeping this a secret, and I very much want you in my bed every night. I mean, if that’s what you want.”

Cas tilts his head, his eyes squinting ever so slightly and Dean can’t help but smirks at the sight.

“I think I’d really like that.”

“Good. Let’s go home then, shall we?”

“Just… Come here first.”

Dean smiles as Cas drags him back to rest on their bed, all tangled up in each other. He rests his head under Cas' chin, finally letting go of all the tension he still holds. Castiel’s arms wrap around him in a tight hug, bringing him ever so closely. Dean’s eyes flutter shut, slowly giving in to the warmth of Cas’ embrace, Cas’ scent all around him, and it truly feels like nothing in the world can get any better.

“You had me really scared for a moment back there,” Cas murmurs after a moment, his hand carding lightly through Dean’s hair, “I thought I had lost you.”

The hint of fragility floating over Cas’ words are like a punch in Dean’s guts, realizing with a new-found clarity what he just gave up for him. Dean raises his head to nuzzle at Cas’ jaw then, his mouth overing on the skin of his throat tenderly.

“I’m sorry you had to give up what was left of your grace for me,” he breathes against Cas’ skin.

“Dean… We’re not doing that.”

“What?”

“I don’t want your guilt,” Cas says, his words ringing through Dean’s ears like they’re made of iron, “and I don’t want whatever self-loathing party you think you’re going to throw.”

“Okay —“

“I _chose_ this, Dean. I knew,” Cas interrupts, lowering his head to catch Dean’s gaze, “I knew it was a matter of time before I became fully human. Truth be told I already thought I was done with it. And then… I don’t know, I felt it rise in my veins and I just knew. I knew that was it. That whatever I chose to do with it, that would be the end of Castiel-Angel-of-the-Lord.”

“So what, I’m not allowed to feel shitty because you sacrificed everything that made you you for me?”

“You’re allowed to _hurt_ with me. But ultimately, no, you’re not allowed to sink yourself into guilt for something I chose. I made my peace with it, I intend for you to do the same now.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

There’s a beat in the room, Castiel’s breathe only audible from where Dean’s ear is pressed against his skin, his arms tugging him closer. When he speaks again, his voice is hoarse and chocked up, and Dean knows it does hurt. And it breaks him down in thousand little pieces.

“I’m not going to pretend that it feels good right now, but… Down the line, I know I’ll be okay.”

“How?”

“I’ve got you. You make me feel like I belong, you make me… Happy. And that’s all I need, really.”

Somewhere in the back of Dean’s mind, there’s a voice yelling at Dean, telling him he doesn’t deserve this, that all of this is his fault, that Cas is going to be miserable because of him.

But Dean doesn’t let it have a space anymore. He silences it and kisses his fallen angel instead. He kisses him like he’s the moon, like he’s the only thing that matters in the big bad mess that has been his life for four decades, he kisses him like Cas holds his own world between his fingers, he kisses him like he’s not afraid of living anymore.

And it feels great, it feels good, it feels like the sun on his face, it feels like Led Zeppelin IV blasting through the stereo.

It feels right. It feels like whatever life throws at them, they can face it.

Because they’re not alone in the pain anymore. They have each other.

*******

It’s almost weird to leave, Castiel realizes as he sink into the passenger seat of the Impala, waiting for Dean to finish loading the trunk with the rest of their belongings.

Realistically speaking, he knows that they’ve only been here for a week, but so much things happened in that little span that it almost feels like a whole month has passed. From slowly going human to the rollercoaster that his relationship with Dean has gone through, and now being fully human but with Dean by his side.

“Ready to go?” Dean asks as he finally joins him, sliding behind the wheels with a smile on his face.

“Yes.”

“I figured we could drive all the way, stop for food at some point before we reach Kansas? I know it’s pretty late already, but I wanna —“

“Make it home to Jack,” Cas interrupts him, “Yes, me too.”

“Okay. Let’s go,” Dean smiles as Baby’s engine comes to life.

Castiel isn’t as used to cataloging emotions as any other human being, but he knows that he’s happy.

Broken up, sure. Lost, probably. But happy. Utterly, disgustingly _happy_.

And it’s a new feeling to catalog, because sure, Castiel felt happy before, but it never really lasted. It’s a feeling that lingered a lot of times, after spending time playing boardgames with Jack, after sharing a conversation about ancient Rome with Sam at 2 am in the Library, after a glass of scotch and a movie with Dean.

But as they head on the open road, leaving Nashville in the rearview mirror to go back Home to their son, Castiel knows this feeling is here to last.

It’s etched into the fabric of his newly human heart, echoing into each of his bones, taking that new space and expanding as Dean reaches for his hand across the Impala’s seat and intertwines their fingers, a strange smile floating on his lips as he keeps his eyes on the road.

For the first time in several millennia, or maybe even for ever, Castiel feels whole. And it might feel strange, but it mostly feels good, and with that comes the greatest realization of them all:

No matter what they go through, no matter the obstacles and the challenges, no matter the cost.

They’ve got this.

*******

It’s basically a 14 hours drive from Tennessee to good old Kansas, frankly nothing that Dean hasn’t done before (hell, he stopped counting how many time he’d drove through Missouri when he was 23), but Cas sleeping soundly against him, his head propped up on his shoulder as they’re about to pass from Missouri to Kansas, Dean’s arm slung over the seat to curl around his back?

 _That’s_ new. And it feels good, and Dean’s not used to feeling this good about anything. It absolutely frightens the shit out of him, but he’s adamant about not letting the fear drive him crazy, for a change.

“Hey angel,” Dean says softly, nuzzling at Cas hair, barely resisting to drop a kiss over his hairline, “we’re about 5 hours out, approaching Kansas City. I’m gonna need to stop to refuel the lady, do you want me to grab coffee? Or a snack?”

Cas just groans in response, his face disappearing into Dean’s shoulder, and the way it makes Dean’s heart grow ten sizes is absolutely unbelievable.

“Don’t be a goddamn baby,” Dean teases, barely containing a laugh.

“That’s not even remotely possible, Dean.”

“Oh, he speaks!”

“I hate you,” Cas groans, finally pushing himself off Dean’s side to straightens into the seat.

“No, you don’t,” Dean smiles, eyes on the road.

He can feel Cas’ gaze on him before he answers, his voice still rough from the half-hour sleep he just got, curled around him, “Coffee does sound nice.”

“Okay. Do you want to call Jack? Tell him we’ll be here soon?”

“It’s 1 am, Dean.”

“So? It’s not like the kid sleeps.”

“Look at you playing mother-hen!” Cas scoffs, a fond look on his face as Dean turns his eyes off the road to look at him.

“Don’t mock me, you’re the same.”

“Okay, I’ll call him,” Cas finally says as Dean parks the Impala to refuel, “Can you get me those little bear stuff you like to eat too?”

“It’s called gummy bear, Cas.”

“Yes, that. Please?”

Dean shuts the engine down and feels like he could literally bursts being this fucking happy. Instead he just leans in, capturing Cas’ mouth in a truly filthy kiss that leaves both of them panting against each other’s lips once they part.

Damn, every kiss with Cas feels like a rollercoaster and Dean would gladly take a permanent spot on the ride, if it allows him to have this 24/7.

“Didn’t you say that we would get arrested if we ever kissed like that in public?” Cas asks, half a smile floating on his lips as he looks at Dean with so much adoration sparkling inside his irises that it almost makes the hunter squirm under his gaze.

“D’you see anyone here?”

Except for a cashier that looks as sleepy as Cas was 3 minutes ago, the Gas’n’Sip is completely empty.

“That’s what I thought,” Dean grins, turning just enough to bite a kiss underneath Cas’ jaw, “God I can’t wait to be home.”

Cas grins back, tilting his head just enough for Dean to nip lightly at the skin of his throat, “To see Jack, right? That’s what it’s about, isn’t it?”

“Don’t play coy with me, angel” Dean groans, raising his head just enough to glare at him, rubbing both of their nose, “you know damn well why.”

Cas has the audacity to throw a playful smirk at him as he playfully hovers his mouth over Dean’s without letting him have it, “Jack.”

“I will make you walk back home, Cas, you feeling lucky?” Dean growls, frustrated by Cas suddenly pulling away, “You stupid bastard, c’mere”.

Dean manages to pull Cas back against him in a flash, and it’s all tongue and teeth, it’s sloppy and _God_ , it’s fucking _hot_.

“There’s always the backseat,” Dean whispers as Cas licks and nibbles at his collarbone, leaving faint pink spots along the way, “we could —“

“If you say “we could have sex in the backseat of my car”, so help me God I _will_ smite your ass out of existence,” Cas groans, nipping a bit harder at Dean skin which makes the hunter honest to God whimper — at that point he doesn’t register if it’s from pain or arousal, and he doesn’t really give a shit.

“Don’t trash-talk my ass,” Dean says, trying to sound offended but failing.

“I would never,”Cas smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, “just wait until we’re home and I’ll show you just how many ideas I have involving your ass, Dean Winchester.”

“Can’t fucking wait.”

“Okay,” Cas smiles, brushing a kiss on the corner of Dean’s mouth one more time before he shoves him off, “Go get me coffee now, I’ll call Jack.”

Dean let an easy laugh bumble out of his chest as he exits the car, making his way to the gas pump. As he starts to refuel his gaze catches Cas’ silhouette in the car, talking agitatedly on the phone with Jack, and Dean realize that he’s spent more than a decade being afraid of something he shouldn’t have been afraid of in the first place.

A few years back, Dean would’ve find someone or something to blame the time they’ve lost on. He would’ve blamed Dad for his A+ parenting skills and rampant internalized homophobic behavior, he would’ve blamed the job that kept him away from having any kind of meaningful relationships, he would’ve blamed Heaven and Hell and the Apocalypse and Chuck.

He doesn’t care anymore.

Somehow it feels so pure and simple, like Cas was the key to his entire universe all along.

Dean is a lot of things, but he’s not stupid. No matter how good this feels, he knows it’s gonna take adjustments and they’re not going to magically work out all of their issues overnight, but he also knows that Cas is everything.

And that’s all he needs, really.

*******

Dean and Cas have been gone 9 days, 8 hours and 56 minutes, Jack figures out as he sits back at the Library’s table, his computer paused on yet another super-hero show. He’s cleaned his room, tidied the kitchen after the mess he’d made prepping the pie recipe Dean gave him last month, and made sure to collect every single piece of tableware he keeps forgetting in the most random places (he did found one of his empty cereal bowls sitting in the shower just an hour ago, with not recollection of how it made its way there in the first place).

When the bunker’s old metal door finally creaks, marking someone’s entrance, Jack bolts upright and speeds to the War Room until he finally cast sight of Cas.

He looks… different. For once, he’s not wearing his customary trench-coat, or his usual suit/crisp white shirt/blue tie combo either. Jack slightly raises an eyebrow as he watches Castiel coming down the stairs.

They were undercover, he thinks, so it’s probably why Cas is wearing jeans and a navy-blue pull over instead of his usual clothes, and why he still sports a 5 o’clock shadow. But still, something feels a little bit off…

“Hey, Jack,” Cas says, and Jack practically jumps on him as Cas hugs him.

“I’ve missed you,” Jack answers, and he can practically tell how Cas relax from his embrace.

Which is odd, because it’s not usually like Cas.

_Uh._

“We’ve missed you, too,” Cas says into his hair, his voice low.

“Where’s Dean?”

“He’s getting the Impala into the garage, he will be here in a mi—“

“Hey kid,” Dean’s voice cuts them off from the hallway, and Cas smiles at him as he practically bolts to meet the hunter at the door.

Jack’s relationship with Dean might have started rocky, but after having spent several years around each other, after fighting off God and Evil and losing each other several times, this bond has grown into something that’s etched deep inside Jack’s soul. The same goes for Sam, and obviously Cas, but with Dean it’s so different partly because it took such a long time to blossom.

Dean hugs him tight as Jack melts against him, and he can hear the hunter laughing as he hugs back.

“Yeah, missed you too, kiddo,” Dean says, and Jack can almost hear a hint of tenderness, which, again… _weird_.

Not that Dean is a gruff 100% of the time, but more like… 97%?

Not that it bothers Jack a lot, because that’s part of what makes Dean, well… _Dean_.

“Are you alright?” Jack asks, finally letting go of Dean’s embrace to rest against the back of a chair.

Dean and Cas exchange a look that the boy doesn’t have the time to truly interprets.

“Yeah, we’re good. Let’s go to the kitchen, I’m starving,” Dean says, already making a point of walking toward the bunker’s kitchen.

Jack doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dean’s hand linger on the small of Castiel’s back like that — it almost seems _possessive_ —, and he certainly has _never_ seen him keep his hand here as he guides the angel to the kitchen. He listens to their usual bickering as they walk the corridor to the kitchen, his mind speeding through the whirlwind of possibilities like a bolt through thunder.

“Dean, you’ve ate your way through an entire pack of beef-jerky like an hour ago,” Cas whines

“So?”

“You need to get some sleep, you’ve just drove 18 hours straight.”

“‘m fine, Cas. What I need is something that doesn’t taste like road food, and then we can head to bed.”

Jack squints his eyes at Dean’s back as they enter the kitchen, head tilting slightly as Dean stops on his feet.

_We?_

“Jack… Did you make an apple pie?” Dean asks, voice stunned as he turns back to look at him, a giddy look on his face, “for me?”

Jack finally picks himself up from his inner turmoil to stare at Dean, “y-yeah, I did that recipe you gave me last month? I figured if I managed it, it would be a nice surprise to come home to.”

“Dude, yeah!” Dean exclaims, drawing him in for a tight hug, “Can we please adopt him?”

“I already told you, there’s no legal way we can adopt Jack,“ Cas answers, and Jack can’t really see him but there’s a hint of a smile floating over his words, “it’s not like either of us exist in the United States’ social database anyway, so even if we could…”

“Yeah, yeah, doesn’t matter, you’re already our kid anyway,” Dean says as he releases him, “let’s try it out, shall we?”

Judging by the obscene sounds coming out from Dean’s mouth after he’s started tasting Jack’s apple pie, Jack figures he did a good job. Castiel watches both of them with fond eyes as he sips on his cup of freshly brewed coffee.

“Good god, Jack! Good to know I finally have an heir in the pie business, fucking hell —“

“Language,” Cas cuts him off.

“Seriously?” Dean cocks an eyebrow at the angel, then straightens out when Cas’ face stays serious, “Alright, okay. Either way: very good job, kiddo.”

“So you like it?”

“If I _like_ it? Dude, I’d take 12 of these, please and thank you.”

“He means he _liked_ it.”

“That’s what I just _said_ , babe,” Dean says, “He gets what I mean, uh Jack?”

Jack’s mind clicks then. All of the weird feelings that have been floating around Dean and Cas since they got back, the way they act toward each other, it all just finally makes sense just as Dean calls Cas “babe”.

“Jack?” Dean asks, sudden worry painted on his face.

Jack stares at them in wonder for half a second, before he dead pans, “You two are finally together, aren’t you?”

Dean stares back at him, visibly stunned as his mouth open to say something that doesn’t come out.

Cas just stares at his son with a gentle smile on his face. He grabs Dean’s hand from where it’s sitting on the table and intertwines their fingers, breaking Dean out of his frozen state to gaze back at him, a shy smile that Jack has never seen before making its way on the hunter lips.

“Yes, Jack, we are,” Cas simply says, smiling back at his son.

And Jack feels like his heart could burst because…

“I knew it! I told Sam he shouldn’t bet against me!”

“You… bet on us getting together?” Dean asks, and there’s almost a small hint of pride hidden somewhere along the line, but his face still looks fully offended.

“Well, yeah…, But it’s Charlie who started it! She bet on a year, Dean, can you believe it? I told her you wouldn’t make it a year, and Sam agreed but he bet on 2 weeks which would’ve mean you got together before this case and…” Jack suddenly stops, looking straight at Cas, “wait, you guys didn’t get together before you left for Nashville, did you?”

“No,” Cas smiles at Jack, visibly amused, “No, we got together… Well, I guess if you want an actual date…”

“June 20,” Dean chirps in, “like Summer.”

And Jack doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dean’s face like that, as he share a look with Cas and smiles back at him. He knows for a fact that Dean has never looked at anyone else that way since the day he was born.

“Then that means I won!”

“What did you bet?” Dean asks, suddenly looking interested.

“Well, Sam said I wasn’t allowed to bet any of my money, so I promised I’d make dinner for a week if he won. And Charlie promised to get me an Xbox if I won, so… I’m gonna go and call her!”

“Yeah okay,” Dean answers as Jack practically flies out of the kitchen, grabbing his phone on the counter, “thanks for the pie!”

Jack’s already half way to the War Room when he hears Dean and Cas laughing from the kitchen, and it makes him stop on his tracks, a smile floating on his face as he dials Charlie’s number.

“Auntie Charles? I’m calling about a certain bet we placed… _You owe me an Xbox_.”

At the other end of the phone Charlie goes hysterical, and Jack burst out laughing.

*******

“So, _how is_ your apple pie?”

“Really, that’s all you’re going to say?”

Dean can’t help a laugh from bumbling out of his throat as Castiel takes a bite of his pie and tastes it before giving it a hum of approval. The angel (or, former angel, but Dean is probably still going to refer to Cas as his angel until his dying days anyway) then catches his gaze and smile brightly, a hint of mischief dancing inside his eyes.

“Aren’t you tired yet?”

“Really, we’re not gonna address this?”

“What do you want me to say? Am I surprised that our closest relatives bet on us getting together? Not really, are you?”

Dean ponders for half a second, “no, not really either.”

“Are you mad?” Cas asks, suddenly concerned.

“No, I think it’s funny.”

“Okay. Can we head to bed now?”

“Damn, you can’t wait to get in bed with me now, can you?” Dean wiggles his eyebrow in a suggestive manner, and Cas laughs again.

Dean doesn’t think the sound of Castiel laughing freely, his hand inside of his and his eyes so filled with complete devotion will ever get old. It’s like riding a thunderbolt and Dean is just happy to be a witness.

He raises up from his seat and tugs his angel closer, and Cas let him, his head finding his special place in the crook of Dean’s neck to rest, both of his hands resting on the small of Dean’s back.

“Summer, uh?” Cas chuckles against him.

“Yeah. Summer,” Dean smiles, burying his nose into Castiel’s hair and breathing his scent deeply, “it kinda fits us, don’t you think?”

Cas chuckles, enjoying the warmth of Dean’s embrace and the return of their privacy for a little while.

“You know, I really am tired, Dean,” Cas whispers and Dean can’t help but shiver as Castiel’s breath lingers on the skin of his throat, “I feel like all I want to do now is sleeping. Being human is really tiring.”

Dean chuckles softly, ghosting his lips over Cas’ hairline, his hands moving slowly against the fabric of Castiel’s pull over, “let’s get you to bed, sweetheart.”

5 minutes and a change of clothes later, the once-upon-an-angel is sleeping soundly inside Dean’s bed, propped up against the hunter in a tight embrace, and Dean’s left staring at his ceiling, wondering.

Does the utter content ever go away?

Is it what it really feels like once you’ve found your soulmate?

He dives off to sleep after a little while, lulled to slumber by Castiel’s steady breathing against his skin.

*******

Dean awakes to the delicious feeling of 170 pounds of former angel pressed against him and lips mapping the skin of his throat in a warm embrace. For a few blessed seconds he allows himself to sink in, wrapping his arms around Cas’ body, slipping his hands underneath the shirt he’s borrowed from Dean’s extensive collection of rock bands tees and burying his nose into the mess of Cas’ hair.

It smells like honey, sandalwood, copper.

_Home._

“Morning, Sunshine.”

“I’m fairly certain that we’re pretty far from morning already, Dean” Castiel answers with a smile, leveling his head up to lock eyes with him.

“‘time is it?” Dean groans, Castiel’s voice sounding a bit too bright for his sleepy head.

“Close to 4 pm, I think. Your phone rang a few times.”

“Is that what woke you up?”

“No. I’ve been awake for a while.”

“Should’ve woken me up then… We could’ve find use of that precious time.”

Cas smiles at him, something twinkling in those baby blues,“You needed the sleep. Jack stopped by a while ago, he went out for a few hours. Told me not to wait for dinner.”

“Okay. C’mere.”

Dean presses both of his hands against the skin of Castiel’s back, pulling him closer and capturing his mouth in a tender kiss, sleepy bad breath be damned. One of Cas’ hand rubs at his cheek softly, letting his finger wander against the dirty blond scruff on his jaw, while the other cards softly through Dean’s hair.

Cas straddles Dean’s hips to get on top of him, and Dean doesn’t really think life can get any better than seeing the love of your life like this, hair gloriously disheveled and wearing his own clothes, chest firmly pressed against his. Dean’s hands settle on the small of his back, both of his thumbs running circles into tender skin.

“How the hell did I manage to miss out on that for so long,” Dean mumbles against Cas’ lips, mouth brushing against him.

“We were being particularly idiotic,” Cas answers and Dean can feel the stretch of a smile on his lips as he kisses him softly, “or, you know… saving the world, fighting God, going to Hell or Heaven or Purgatory…”

“Our lives are so fucked up, man,” Dean can’t help but chuckle.

“Yes, but if that’s what it took to get us here… I’ll gladly do it all over again.”

“Really?”

The last couple of days have left Dean wondering what he’d would have been like if the two of them had made a move on each other earlier instead of waiting 12 years to realize they’d been playing idiots. At some point it even made him feel pretty shitty, thinking back to a decade of self-doubts and arguments that could’ve been avoided if they only had the nerve to tell each other how much they felt.

“Well, think about it. It took us some time to figure it out —“

“12 years ain’t “some time”, Cas,” Dean interrupts but Cas keeps going, unfazed.

“If we got together a while ago, how sure are you that we could’ve make it work? That either one of us wouldn’t have ran away at the first small inconvenience?”

Dean takes a second to think, lost in the blue of Cas’ eyes. And yeah, maybe he does have a point.

“Do you think…” Cas picks up the conversation again, running his fingers along Dean collarbones in a subconscious soothing gesture, “”past you”, “pre-Chuck you”, would’ve been ready for any type of relationship? Because I know for a fact that Castiel, Angel of the Lord from 5 or 10 years ago would’ve fucked this up.”

“Okay, maybe you have a point. But it doesn’t mean I don’t regret not getting my shit together sooner.”

“Let’s just enjoy what we have now, okay? Let’s not dwell on the time we’ve spent dancing around each other and hurting each other, and let’s focus on making this work. Okay?”

“Sometimes you’re very wise, angel.”

“Well, I aim to please.”

That’s when Dean realized that sure, 12 years is a long time and maybe they could’ve avoided a decade of self-doubts and harms, but there was a reason why they made it this far and ended up waking up together in that same bed at end of June, 2020.

“I need you,” Dean mumbles, brushing his lips in another tender kiss.

“I’m right here.”

“So _not_ what I meant.”

Cas smiles again, locking eyes with him and _there_ , Dean can see it again, that little grin and the distinct twinkle dancing inside his irises, “what do you mean, then?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Just say it,” Cas smiles even brighter, fitting his mouth over Dean in a chaste kiss, “I need guidance.”

“I _want_ you,” Dean says, getting interrupted by Cas’ lips on his, “Need you, angel.”

“We’ve talked about this,” Cas smiles again, brushing another kiss to the hunter’s lips, “I’m no angel anymore, we gotta find another pet name.”

“Nah, I’m never giving this one up,” Dean chuckles, his hands massaging Cas’ back under his shirt, “we’re overdressed.”

“That, we are.”

Castiel gets back up then, letting go of Dean’s lips and takes his shirt — well, _Dean’s_ — off before he throws it off in some dark corner of Dean’s room, and _fuck_ if this doesn’t turn Dean on even more. He hums appreciatively, running his hands all over Cas’ tanned skin displayed in front of him, maps out the lines of the enochian letters inked into the skin of Cas’ ribs. Castiel’s eyes are already blown wide with what Dean can only interpret as lust and it makes him quiver in anticipation, looking at the former angel gazing down at him.

“You’re still wearing a shirt, Dean,” Cas scowls at him and Dean can’t help but laugh at the frown on the angel’s face.

“Why don’t you take care of that?”

It doesn’t take too long after that until they’re both naked and panting against each other, hands roaming over the other’s body like they need to claim each other. Cas locks eyes with Dean then, looking like he’s doing something wrong.

Dean frames his face between both of his hand, placing a soft kiss on Cas’ lips, “what d’you need?”

“You’ll tell me if I do something wrong?”

“You can’t do anything wrong, babe.”

“Well, I’m not as experienced as you are.”

“Don’t worry about experience.”

“But you’ll tell me?”

“Cas.”

Dean kisses him furiously then, in an attempt to sooth every self-doubts away. His heart breaks at the hint of lack of self-confidence dancing around the edges of Castiel’s words. Sure, Dean’s experienced when it comes to sex (not that he ever boasted about all the times he got fucked against the wall of some random bar’s back alley by some random dude he didn’t even get the name), but when it comes to making love with a man you’ve been dying to touch for more than a decade? He’s entirely unexperienced, and it’s _thrilling_.

“If there’s anything you’re not sure about, just ask me. I trust you. Trust yourself.”

“What if I hurt you?”

“You’re not going to hurt me,” Dean smiles, “besides I don’t mind getting hurt in bed sometimes.”

Cas raises an eyebrow at him, a glint of something mischievous making his eyes sparkle, “good to know.”

“It’s a dance, okay? We’re two in that bed. If you want something just ask, I’ll make sure to do the same. There’s no shame. Trust yourself. Trust me.”

“I trust you.”

“And I trust _you_.”

Cas nods, then grins a little, “Okay. Remember that promise I made you?”

“Which one? The one about mapping out my entire body with your lips?”

“Well, not that one, although I do intend to keep it at a later point. But the other one.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, and boy he didn’t think he could get even more turned on than he already was, but judging by the bolt of arousal punching through his entire body as Cas’ hands find their place on his chest, his weight sitting comfortably heavy on his middle, he can. And if his already rock hard cock is any indicator, Cas probably knows, too. 

“The one where you said you couldn’t wait to take me apart?”

“Yes. That.”

“Well, don’t keep me waiting, angel.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re going to have a choice.”

“Ohh — _cocky_. I like it,” Dean chuckles.

Cas’ hand sneaks in between them, finally wrapping around the hunter’s cock, sending a bolt of pleasure through Dean’s spine at the touch. Dean moans deeply, chasing the pleasure of Cas’ grasp around him.

“Is this cocky enough for you, Dean?” Cas whispers, warm breath sending goosebumps through Dean’s body, “Talk to me.”

It’s an order, and _God_ , does it send Dean to oblivion already.The angel licks and nibbles at Dean’s collarbone, leaving traces that will last just long enough for him to admire in the mirror.

“I said “talk to me”, Dean,” Cas groans, making a point of keeping his dick in hand without moving an inch until Dean speaks.

And maybe Dean likes to be manhandle a little bit too much, because he could practically come on the spot if Cas keeps talking this rough with that deep voice of his.

_Goddamit, you’re so damn whipped already, Winchester._

“I want you,” Dean whines, entirely consumed by growing desire as Cas finally starts rubbing his thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the droplets of precome over the length of sensitive skin, “Cas, _shit_ , I want you—“

Castiel’s eyes are on him suddenly, the angel raising up on one elbow to watch him lose it as he twirls his clever fingers around Dean’s cock, his other hand fisting into Dean’s hair just the way he likes it — a little rough and a little tender. Dean slowly looses it, his teeth helplessly sinking into his lower lip as he starts thrusting into Cas’ hand himself, letting his hips roll slowly, waves of pleasure crushing into him like the ocean on the shore. Cas’ eyes never waver, and Dean feels so naked under his gaze he almost shivers.

He let his eyes flutter close then, entirely giving up to the sensation, Castiel’s long fingers working around him faster. Cas’ lips are _everywhere_ , mouthing along the skin of his throat, going down his chest, nipping lightly at his right nipple… It’s gentle and warm and exciting and, God, _so fucking hot_.

“Cas,” he mumbles, completely dizzy and lost into his feelings, and fuck, so disgustingly in love, “Cas, I want your mouth.”

“Is that so?”

Castiel tears his lips away from where he was sucking on the skin of Dean’s hip to glare at him, slightly squeezing his hand around Dean’s cock where it’s stopped moving. Dean’s eyes roll so hard from pleasure he thinks maybe people in Australia might have heard it.

Either that, or the deep moan that escapes his throat the minute Cas’ mouth closes around the head of his cock travelled all the way down under.

He doesn’t really have time to be ashamed about it because not even half a second later, Cas swallows him down like a champ and Dean’s squirming under him, fisting the sheets into his hand while his other hand travels to Cas’ head, tugging carefully at his glorious dark hair.

“Fuck, you look so good with your mouth — fuck, _Cas_ — your mouth wrapped around my cock,” Dean finds the strength to say before an animalistic groan rips out of his throat as Castiel swallows him all the way down once more.

He’s so tight around Dean, looking like a goddamn sex god that Dean is already so close to the edge in a matter of seconds.

“C-Cas, Cas, you’re gonna make me come,” Dean almost sobs, a galaxy of pleasure echoing into his bones as he watches his boyfriend — the love of his goddamn life, really — moan around his cock as he takes it all in, mouth stretched around him, “Cas-Castiel, _fuck_ , don’t make me come yet.”

Cas finally tears his mouth away from his throbbing dick, peppering kisses along the sensitive skin of Dean’s inner thigh, watching him through his suspiciously long eyelash with those goddamn ocean blues, and Dean thinks maybe it’s unfair that he looks this hot with his lips still pink and swollen and his chin slick with spit from swallowing him down his throat.

“Weird,” Cas murmurs, dropping a kiss into that sensitive spot in the fold of Dean’s leg where it meets his groin, a cheeky grin floating on his lips as he looks up to him, “you’re calling me “Castiel” when you start to lose it, don’t you?”

“Dunno. Don’t care. Get up here.”

He doesn’t really know where he finds the strength since his legs are still shaking from pleasure, but he manages to haul Cas up to capture his mouth in a filthy kiss. It’s all tongues and teeth and swollen lips and moans echoing into each other’s mouth, and it feels like a decade of sexual tension finally being dealt with.

“Want you,” Dean whines in-between kisses, “ _need_ you, angel.”

“Was that okay?”

“Are you fucking kidding me, that was fucking amazing,” Dean exclaims, framing Castiel’s face into both of his hands, “god you looked so hot with your mouth around me.”

“I take it you liked it,” Cas smiles at him and Dean can’t help but surge forward to kiss the living shit out of him once more.

“If I liked it? As far as I’m concerned, you can do that every fucking day until I die,” he pants, both of his hands cupping the angel’s ass firmly, “I’m gonna take care of you now, okay?”

Cas moans into his mouth and Dean can’t help but shiver at the feeling of deep arousal going down his throat to reach his stomach. It’s something that very rarely happen to him in bed, and he figures it’s because he loves Cas so fucking much.

It feels like liquid love filling him up, like a good glass of bourbon reaching his stomach, like ecstasy being injected straight through his nervous system. He’s fairly certain he could see stars just by swallowing Cas’ moans up.

He finds the strength to sneak his hand between their bodies to reach for Cas’ hard dick trapped against him, thumbing at the head to smooth the drops of precome over the length before he starts thrusting firmly around Cas’ cock.

“Let yourself go, angel,” he murmurs, peppering Cas’ face with light kisses, watching in awe as the former angel moans and slowly sinks in pleasure, “God, you look so fucking hot. Want you so bad.”

“D-Dean,” Cas stutters, eyes closed and pleasure written all over his features, “Faster.”

“Like that?” Dean asks, studying Cas’ face from up close, twirling his fingers along the shaft and relishing the choked sobs coming out of Cas’ mouth, “What do you need, angel?” he murmurs against Cas’ stubbed cheek.

“Fuck, _Dean_ — want to be inside of you.”

Dean blinks, the surge of desire flashing multicolors inside his head as Cas opens his eyes to look at him, irises flashing electric blue and pupils blown so wide it almost obscure everything.

“Lube is in my drawer.”

Cas rolls over and Dean instantly misses the weigh and warmth of the angel as he watches him fumble inside his drawer, finally finding the half-used tube of lube. He gets back between Dean’s legs then, and judging by the way he opens up the tube and starts gliding it over his fingers, it doesn’t look like he needs any kind of indication.

Dean’s stomach fluster with want in anticipation. Fucking butterflies swarming inside his guts, even.

Cas looks up at him, a look of half wonder-half terror painted on his face.

“Trust yourself. I want you. Wanna feel you so bad, babe.”

Cas seems to relax at that and then Dean’s eyes roll in pleasure as one slick finger teases at his rim, before pushing in slowly to the knuckles and warmth blazes right through him.

“Fuck, _Cas_ ,” he cries out, already clenching around as Cas slowly thrust inside of him, fingering him open, “You feel so fucking good.”

Cas watches him with wide-eyes fascination as Dean’s moans increase in volume. He quickly adds another finger, thrusting faster as he stretches him carefully, occasionally brushing Dean’s prostate.

“Need you,” Dean shivers as Cas fingers bend a certain way that makes him want to whine for hours, “Need you inside, baby.”

“Okay. I need you to guide me,” Cas says as he removes his fingers carefully.

“I’ve got you, angel,” Dean breathes, briefly wondering if he’s gonna be able to last through another rush of ecstasy.

Dean reaches for the lube and pours some into his hand before he sits up and take Cas’ cock in hand. The angel’s eyes roll back in pleasure as Dean slowly works through his length, slicking him up ready. His other hand reaches for Cas’ head, tilting his chin down to meet him with a deep kiss, yearning popping up inside Dean’s head like fireworks.

“Dean,” Cas whispers as they part, completely out of breath, “w-want you so bad.”

“C’mere.”

Dean drags Cas down with him as he lies back down on the bed. As if on queue, Cas immediately aligns his hips with Dean’s, and Dean can already feel the head of Cas’ slick cock nudging against his hole.

He keeps both of his hand on Cas’ cheek, searching for his eyes until wild blue meets steady green.

“I’m ready. Go slow,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against Cas’ as an encouragement, “it’s been a long time.”

His body trembles as Cas gently rubs his cock against Dean’s rim, and then ecstasy flashes white as the angel slowly slides in, gently pressing inside of him.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Dean cries out, relishing the familiar burning sensation, “ _shit_ , Cas, you’re so good.”

“Dean,” Cas moans in pleasure, hips moving slow and steady and gaze never wavering from Dean’s emeralds, “Oh _God_ , Dean.”

Dean’s eyes flutter shut and he can’t help but throw his head back as Cas bottoms out inside of him, letting a filthy moan fall out of his throat. Cas’ lips are on him then, biting kisses beneath is jaw as he start thrusting quicker and quicker inside of him, throwing Dean over the edge.

“Fuck me up, baby,” Dean groans as he attempts to grasps at the remaining drops of self-control he still possesses, “more, Cas, harder — _shit_.”

“God you feel so good, so fucking _tight_ ” Cas moans into Dean’s skin, kissing his lips as he hooks his arms under Dean’s legs, wrapping them higher to change the angle, “you look so beautiful like that.”

Dean groans underneath him, watching as Cas rises up and starting plowing his ass, the new angle proving his efficiency in the way Cas’ cock keeps hitting Dean’s prostate relentlessly. Dean reaches for his cock, knowing full well he’s not gonna last very long.

“Cas I’m close, I’m so close,” he whines as the angel keeps hammering him, “ _fuck_ , yes, _please_. More, give me more — ”

“You’re mine,” Cas suddenly growls as he surges forward to capture Dean’s lips in a mind-blowing kiss, “ _mine_.”

“Yours,” Dean answers, “Yours, Cas, _always_.”

Castiel’s thrusts start to grow more erratic as they push closer to the edge, Dean’s hand working steadily over his own cock and hot open-mouthed kisses being pressed into each other’s skin.

“Cas,” Dean finally breathes into Cas’ mouth as his cock hit his prostate and sends wave of pleasure deep into Dean’s bones, “Castiel, I’m gonna —“

Cas interrupts him with a deep kiss as Dean’s hand froze over his own cock, his mind flashing right into bolts of pleasure and sending him to oblivion as he spills white all over his own chest, Cas’ cock still pounding hard into him.

Cas follows a few blessed seconds after him, crying out into his shoulder and filling him up one last time before he spills inside of Dean, his whole body shuddering as he finally let himself fall back into Dean’s embrace, his face pressed in the crook of Dean’s neck.

Dean quivers at the soft kisses Cas leaves on his overly sensitive skin, then hisses when he slides out of him, leaving him stretched and empty. He allows himself to sink into the afterglow for a few blessed minutes, Castiel quickly catching his breath and his warmth enveloping him into a state of bliss he’s probably never experienced before.

His mind wanders, for a while. Dean has always loved sex, used it as a coping mechanism at some point, experienced bliss and ecstasy hundreds of time. Yet, as he lies inside a bed he’s claimed as his own a few years back, inside the place he’s considered a home for the first time in his life, and into the arms of the man he’s been in love with for the past 12 years, Dean realizes that maybe sex with Cas is about to change his whole experience on the subject.

Cas moves against him after a moment, and Dean opens his eyes to watch him carefully press his shirt onto Dean’s stomach, wiping sticky come away with focus. Dean raises one of his hand to wander along Cas’ spine, watching him as he wipes both of them clean.

“That’s my Zeppelin shirt,” Dean whines, a tentative smile on his face, “I’ll never look at it the same way.”

“I didn't plan on returning it to you anyway,” Cas answers before he tosses it to the side once they’re both clean enough, “we still need a shower.”

“We’ll get there in a while. Come back here.”

Cas is back into his arms in seconds, and Dean exhales as he presses their foreheads together like he’s been holding his breath for a decade.

Well, maybe he _has_.

“I love you,” he mumbles against Cas’ lips, brushing a kiss on the corner of the angel’s mouth, “Fuck, I love you so much, Cas.”

For someone who’s been so afraid to let these three little words fall out of his mouth his whole life, someone who’s constantly battled his insecurities to never let himself being vulnerable in any kind of way, Dean finally letting go of his guard and lowering the walls he’s carefully crafted around is heart enough to offer this confession twice in 24 hours is as close of a miracle as it can get.

He can’t help but freeze at the confession though, because you don’t let go of 4 decades of repressed feelings that easy, and Cas still hasn’t said it back.

What if he doesn’t? What if he never says it back?

But Castiel, former angel of the lord, current and forever love of his life, takes his doubts away and folds them into a ball before he throws it out a window.

“I love you too, Dean Winchester.”

And suddenly, it’s out there in the air. It feels like all of Dean’s broken pieces fit together again.

Dean figures it’s what it feels like when moon meet sun. When blood meets grace.

_When love meets love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked my writing, don't forget to check my other work on my [profile](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticdean). You can also find me babbling about SPN and Destiel on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com)
> 
> See you next Monday for one finale update! 💜


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, life goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What started as a very short one-shot for the SPNStayAtHome challenge during the lockdown evolved into a multi-chapter story and allowed me to get back into writing for the first time in 8 years. It's by no mean a perfect story, there's so many imperfections along the way that it still burns my eyes when I re-read everything, but I'll forever cherish this fanfic for bringing writing back into my life.
> 
> Thanks to every single one of you for sticking up with me all through those 12 chapters. To those who subscribed, commented, left kudos, reached out on Tumblr, to the ghost readers: thank you ❤️
> 
> A more specific thank you to my best friend Camille who had to endure my never-ending talks about this story, who gave me countless ideas to work on and still managed to read almost every single one of my chapters for proof-reading. Thank you to [Sarah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keptinonzebridg) and [Marjo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeySilence) for proof-reading everything and being actual cheerleaders all through those last few months.
> 
> It feels really weird saying goodbye to these Dean and Cas. They've lived alongside me for 3 months, and they kinda feel like they're a small part of my life at this point. I hope this Epilogue will give you as much joy as this whole story gave me!
> 
> For those of you wondering if I have anything else planned after that, I **do!** You can subscribe to [my profile](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticdean) to be notified whenever I post something new. As of now, I have at least two new multi-chapter fics planned at some point before the end of the year, and I plan on posting one-shots on a regularly basis like I already do.
> 
> It's been a crazy ride, and I'm really glad you've been on it with me!
> 
> Now... Time for an epilogue, motherfuckers.
> 
> See you in the comment section :)

And so, life goes on.

Sam and Eileen come home a couple of days after Dean and Cas, the woman sporting a discreet engagement ring on her finger. Jack and Dean set up a special dinner to celebrate the newly engaged couple, inviting Charlie, Jody, and the girls over, but it quickly turns into a celebration of Dean and Cas's new relationship as well (much to everyone’s delight).

It feels a bit weird to Dean, after spending so many years being afraid of being fully out as a bisexual man, to finally feel comfortable enough to hold Castiel’s hand in front of the people he loves — _his family_ , blood and found — witnessing the love radiating from everyone around them (so much so that at some point he got actually scared they’d go and make fucking “Dean and Cas fan club” tee-shirts to wear).

In the end, like everything else, time passes and Dean doesn’t give two flying fucks who walks into the kitchen to catch them making out over the counter any given morning anymore (he’d delight hearing Sam curse “get a fucking room” and would even find the strength to flip a finger at his younger brother while still not letting go of Cas’ lips).

Cas adjusts to human life remarkably well, even picking up new hobbies along the way. Half of his days are now being spent outside in the garden he’s started growing above the bunker. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen his angel as happy as he is whenever he comes back inside half-covered in sweat and dirt, holding fresh tomatoes or carrots. He’s tried a handful of things, like knitting (a success so far), cooking (he managed to burn pasta, which in return got him banned from using the stove ever again unless under Dean’s supervision), making puzzles (Jack has been proven a worthy ally) and learning the piano (he keeps trying to learn Hey Jude, and the way it keeps lighting up Dean’s face every time he walks in on the first few notes makes it all worth it).

Dean wouldn’t give himself the credit, but the fact that he isn’t dealing with going human alone this time is probably a significant reason why it’s going so smoothly.

Cas upholds his commitments to learning how every single one of Dean’s muscles works under his fingertips, mapping out his entire body during countless nights and days, figuring out what makes him moan and squirm and whine.

Dean’s had sex with countless men and women over the years, yet nothing comes close to the bliss and fury and ecstasy that it is to have sex with Cas. It’s like he can never get enough, like his desires are going to be on fire for the rest of his days. It’s like riding a thunderbolt while simultaneously being tossed to oblivion.

He makes a point of telling Cas he loves him almost every single day.

It doesn’t really matter if it’s whispered into his ears when they wake up all tangled up in each other early in the morning, or cried out against his skin while Cas pounds into him steadily during sex, or under the shower they share after Cas comes back from working in the garden.

Sometimes it’s said in the way Dean prepares pancakes for Cas just the way he found out he likes it best (with butter and sugar instead of maple syrup, and it’s still a goddamn crime to Dean but if that’s what makes Cas happy, he’ll give him a pass), or whenever he let him put a nature documentary on instead of forcing yet another western movie to watch together, or when their lips brush together before they share a kiss over the kitchen counter.

It’s in the way he’ll comfort Cas when he wakes up yelling from a nightmare, in the way he’ll fold him onto his arms and lull him back to sleep firmly pressed against him.

It’s not all peace and light, though, no matter how much sex and soothing words can help.

At first, all of them have to remind the former angel about the usual mechanic of being human — Cas tends to forget about basic things like having to eat on a somewhat regular schedule, or going to sleep at convenient hours.

The first few weeks, Dean finds Castiel asleep in the most bizarre places at the most random hours of the day. He also regularly wakes up in the middle of the night to an empty cold bed and finds Cas sitting outside watching the stars, lost inside his own mind, a look of profound despair painted on that face that Dean loves so much

Those nights are amongst the worst they go through.

Dean is still Dean, guilt is still inbuilt into his reaction process whether he wants it or not, and Dean’s characteristic way of dealing with guilt is usually to wrap himself around a bottle of cheap whisky while listing all the valid reasons why everyone will eventually leave him behind to die.

When he finally returns to bed, mind, and body rendered numb enough that he doesn’t really feel the pain for a little while, Cas is back in bed as if he’d never left in the first place. Dean lies on his back, eyes glued to the ceiling as if it’d hold the answers to the secret of the universe. Eventually, he’s lulled back to sleep by the sound of Cas’ steady breathing against him, and he awakes to the warmth of the former angel wrapped up around him in the morning.

They don’t talk about it.

Until one night the dam breaks.

It’s nothing short of ordinary, really.

Dean’s had a bad day. They haven’t gone on a hunt in over three weeks, and it’s starting to get itchy being cooped up in the bunker. He’d get into Baby and head on the open road as he usually tends to do whenever staying in becomes too much, but something seems to be wrong with her engine and he still can’t figure out what yet. Sam and Eileen left a few days before, planning their upcoming wedding, and Jack has been in Heaven for the most part of the week. Cas, well… Cas has not even been remotely Cas for the most part of the last 24 hours.

And Dean is trying, he’s really trying not to get pissed off by it because he knows it’s part of the former angel’s grieving process, but he can’t help being pissed anyway.

Pissed at Sam and Eileen for leaving, pissed at Jack for not even bothering to pick up his goddamn phone or answer a freaking text, pissed at Baby’s engine for failing him.

Pissed at Cas.

Pissed at Cas for leaving their bed before he even opened his eyes this morning, leaving it cold and empty for Dean to find, a sour panic raising through his guts the moment his conscience rose. Pissed at Cas for the sorrow inside his eyes, for the hollow of their conversations, for the way it keeps feeling like he made the biggest fucking mistake of his life when he chose Dean.

And Dean tries, for what it’s worth. He tries to keep it all in, bury it next to all the despair and the gut-wrenching pain he’s got locked up in the deepest and darkest corner of his soul, but somehow whisky keeps having a way of unlocking it away at some point.

They yell at each other, throw names and fight over stupid reasons. Dean starts punching walls. Castiel blames it on the alcohol. The strains of tears on Cas’ cheeks stand out in the dim light of the room they’ve shared ever since they came back. Dean can see it clearly when Castiel walks out of the room, leaving him alone to deal with his own misery.

It’s their first big fight as a couple. Dean doesn’t know how to deal with it, so he doesn’t.

He doesn’t curl around another bottle, surprisingly enough. Maybe it’s because of the way Cas’ eyed glimmered with fury when he yelled “you’d rather spend the night with a bottle of whisky than me” at him, or maybe it’s because of the way his voice broke on the last word, tearing a hole through Dean’s entire being.

Instead, he lies in bed, eyes glued to the ceiling and fear flowing through his veins before the lack of sleep finally catches up with him and he dozes off.

He hears him before he sees him; feels him slip back into bed and pressing his body against Dean’s before he manages to even open his eyes; delights in the warmth of Castiel’s skin against his own, even knowing that he doesn’t really deserve it after what he said hours before.

“Cas?” he asks, voice rough, still half asleep.

The angel finds his usual spot in the crook of his neck as if on instinct, as Dean waits to see if he talks and doesn’t dare to make a single move until he’s sure he’s not going to tear away from him. When Cas drops a soft kiss over the sensitive skin of his shoulder, he slips both of his arms around the former angel’s waist and breathes deeply.

“I’m still mad at you,” Cas says, voice low, clutching his boyfriend closer.

“Okay.”

“But I can’t sleep without you.”

Dean brushes a kiss over Cas’ forehead and Cas exhales like he’s been holding it for hours. Relief flows through Dean’s nervous system.

Cas is not leaving.

“I love you,” Dean whispers, unable to help himself.

Castiel catches his mouth in a tender kiss then and Dean let go of the tension he’s been holding since what feels like forever. Kissing Cas still feels like a dream, even after months. Sometimes Dean thinks that maybe it’s not normal, but then he realizes nothing about them is normal anyway.

“I know you do,” Cas finally answers as he let go of Dean’s lips, “but that’s not the point. Loving someone doesn’t give you carte blanche to treat them badly. Loving someone is not an excuse.”

His voice breaks and Dean’s heart shatters. He nuzzles at Cas’ jaw, bringing him closer, panic rising inside his lungs.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“And I shouldn’t have stormed off like that, either. I apologize.”

“I thought you weren’t coming back.”

The second he blurts it out, Dean regrets spilling his doubts into the darkness of their room, but it’s too late to take the words back anyway. Cas’ arms tighten around him as if on queue, and Dean’s eyes flutter shut as he lets himself be held.

“Oh Dean, sweetheart… No.”

“I just mean I’d get it if you needed to leave for a while. I know I’m a nightmare to deal with most of the time, I just… I’d get it —“

“You’re an idiot.”

“Well, that’s not new.”

“Dean —“

Cas kisses him again then, both of his hands resting on his cheek.

“I’m not leaving. Ever. Okay?”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that. And you’re not a nightmare to deal with. You’re… God, you’re a dream, Dean.”

“Now you’re just trying to make me blush, angel.”

“No, I mean it. I don’t know where I’d be if you weren’t by my side, Dean. You have to understand that. But,” Cas says, his voice going softer, “We both have to also understand that we’re going to fight, and it’s unavoidable.”

Dean catches Cas’ gaze in the obscurity of their room, the light glow of the lights from the hall making the edges of the former angel’s face stand out in the dark. It’s a lifeline Dean clings onto.

“However, just because we argue doesn’t mean I’m going to walk out that door and never come back. But we have to allow each other some space, whenever we need to.”

“So you’re saying you’re stuck with me?”

“Dean Winchester, I’ve loved you for a very long time. I think it’s pretty clear you’re the one stuck with me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re not leaving.”

“Uh-uh.”

When they have sex that night, Dean asks to top for the first time, needing the reassurance that Cas his _his_ , that Cas is not leaving. He’s aware that it might be childish, or stupid, or borderline possessive, but he can’t help it. And as usual, the sex is mind-blowing.

It always is.

After that night, things go a bit smoother from each side.

Dean slows his drinking habits, favoring talking with Cas when he’s not feeling good. Cas learns to let Dean in when all he wants to do is bolt outside and stare at the sky in disbelief.

They both learn that being a couple isn’t always waking up together every morning, or cuddling to sleep every night, or laughs and sex every day.

They understand that sometimes it’s harsh words and slamming doors, it’s Cas stealing the covers during the night or Dean snoring so loudly it makes Cas want to smash his head out.

It’s standing up stubbornly for what you believe is right even when your partner disagrees with you. It’s heavy silence until both of your hearts heal and then forgives.

It’s coming home with the same person every day, one who knows you and loves you and cares despite knowing deep down who you really are.

It’s dirty laundry and bed unmade.

It’s sticking together even when everything feels like it’s collapsing around you.

It’s swallowing up hurtful words instead of screaming it out.

It’s reheating dinner food to share at 2 am after you came back from a terrible hunt and you just want to spend time with your angel.

It’s the warmth and emotional comfort of Cas’ arms around you after a nightmare, it’s the “I love you” whispered in the dark and kisses pressed against your skin, the “it’s going to be okay” mumbled in your ears when panic rises into your bones. And you believe him.

It’s loving someone even when he makes you go fucking crazy, when he makes you cry, when he makes you ache. Sometimes it’s terrible and it’s hard, but at the end of the day? It’s still the most incredible thing that Dean has ever felt.

And you keep choosing each other.

It’s no a bed of roses, but it’s a bed they make for themselves, and they manage to pull through everything, good or bad.

And so here they are, finally.

June 20, 2021.

Nashville, Tenessee.

And it’s a beautiful day to propose.

*******

They get married the next Tuesday.

They don’t see any point in waiting anymore. It feels like they’ve been waiting for this for the past 13 years. Bobby gets ordained online, Sam is Dean’s best man, Jack is Castiel’s, Jody and Donna and the girls are here, as well as Garth and his family, Charlie, even Rowena (“did you boys really think I would’ve missed this?”) made the trip from Hell to be there.

“I promise to put you first and love you even when you get real sassy,” Dean vows Cas, the laughs of their friends rendered quiet by the intensity of the smile on the angel’s lips.

Cas quickly fires back, “I promise if there's only one slice of pie left, I'll let you have it.”

“Hey, fuck off angel face, no one messes with pie!”

The small audience laughs, Sam rolls his eyes like he’s done countless times over the years, but with fondness and love written on every single one of his features. His arm is slung over Jack’s shoulders, pressing him to his side like only a dad would do. Cas grabs both of Dean’s hands, and Dean settles, eyes locked in his.

It’s just the two of them.

“You once told me that you were just a man,” Cas says, the blue of his eyes twinkling with something that Dean can only interpret as love, the warmth of Cas’ hands between his grounding him, “truth is we are all just men. But you're the one. And you're mine.”

Dean thinks back to a time where he wouldn’t allow himself to even think about having something with Cas, to a time where he forbade himself to ever think about the angel being something more than just an angel gravitating around him. He thinks back to a barn in South Dakota, to a trench-coat floating in a river, to a Gas’n’Sip in Idaho, to a filthy dark alley and a telephone booth barely standing. He thinks back to the Greystone Retreat in Nashville, Tennessee. To the concrete floor of a shed and the cold feeling of chains around his wrist. To Cas choosing him, over, and over, and over again.

“I love you with every fiber of my entire being,” Dean starts, his voice thick with emotions, eyes firmly locked inside those baby blues he’d kill for, “I know I pretend that I’m not a chick-flick kind of guy, but you of all people know better than that.”

Cas smiles at him again, and Dean’s mind registers the laughs of the audience in a corner, but he keeps going. This is important.

“You told me once that “good things do happen, Dean”, and I never believed you. Now, I do. You barged into our lives and changed everything, and maybe we got a little bit delayed by some small stuff like one or two tiny apocalypses, or God and the Darkness in the process… But here we are, 13 years later, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Good things do happen, Cas. You’re my good thing.”

Their wedding bands are the ones Sam had bought for them a little over a year ago, before sending them both to Nashville. Their real wedding date is now engraved inside, with a tiny “dean+cas” added right next to it.

Castiel kisses Dean as Bobby declares them “married at last”, and the little crowd of every single one of these people they call family cheers for them but Dean doesn’t really hear them anymore.

It’s so easy to get lost in Cas. So easy to taste love on his lips, hope inside his hands.

There are even better days ahead now, the open road and a house on the coast of California, not too far away from where Eileen and Sam settle down after a while, a little girl that wears the name Charlie with pride, making both of them uncles and Jack a big brother.

There’s a dog they name Pilgrim coming home with them after they’ve adopted him at the shelter down the road, cuddled up on Jack’s lap that never leaves his side whenever he's home.

There’s still a couple of hunts they take every month, simple salts and burns that don’t require any sacrifice.

And so, life goes on, indeed.

And it tastes like everything Dean always thought he'd never have, like apple pie and the waves of laughter of their niece echoing through their house when Jack is chasing her across the living room, like the wave of the Pacific Ocean heaving itself blindly upon the shore, like Cas waking up slowly against Dean's side as the sun softly bathe their room in a golden glow.

They've earned it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've created a Darkest Roads verse serie! It includes this fic along with several one-shots that I wrote for Suptober involving DR's Dean and Cas (because apparently they live rent-free in my head). I don't know if I'll keep writing stuff for these two, but if I do, you'll find all of it [**here**](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007565) :)
> 
> _**Find me on[Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com), and read more of my stuff on my [profile](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticdean)!** _

**Author's Note:**

>  **This fanfic's title comes from "Graveyard" by Halsey [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NwmidlDwuKE)]**  
>  **Chapter 2** is titled after "Therapy" by All Time Low [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zR9MuyUFa3Y)]  
>  **Chapter 3** is titled after lyrics from "Graveyard" by Halsey [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NwmidlDwuKE)]  
>  **Chapter 6** and **Chapter 7** are titled after lyrics from "Always" by Bon Jovi [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9BMwcO6_hyA)]  
>  **Chapter 8** is titled after lyrics from "All These Things That I've Done" by The Killers [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PZNF9Sc1F-M)]  
>  **Chapter 9** is titled after "Fault Line" by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OQDLf8xI7BE)]  
>  **Chapter 10** is titled after lyrics from "The Light Behind Your Eyes" by My Chemical Romance [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZSg-eHng52E)]  
>  **Chapter 11** is titled after lyrics from "Summertime" by Bon Jovi [[x](https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwjE14SQhY7sAhWKHhQKHfN_CNEQyCkwAHoECAcQAw&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DbvhUlNwceYw&usg=AOvVaw3r0UME9QO_bvWBLcVZxTuw)]


End file.
